Love and darkness
by TGO DR MURAKI
Summary: Muraki is still evading capture by Shinigami..meanwhile truths are revealed about the turbulent past history of the gods and about the demon who controls him..Fate laughs..Tatsumi despairs..Nameless meets with Muraki to receive his gift..
1. Chapter 1

I have not read the manga of Yami no matsuei. Set after Episode 13, this story is based solely on what I saw in the anime, which was far too short, IMO. I wish there was a sequel or that there will be one soon (sigh) . So, if there are any inaccuracies in my story, please forgive me. After having seen bits and pieces of this anime a few years ago, the character of Dr. Muraki never left me; I think he's just terrific, and so I finally obtained a DVD of this which turned out to be bootleg with awful English translation! Blame it on that if I have spelled any of the proper names incorrectly. I hope you will enjoy reading my fic, and feedback is most welcome!

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_Disclaimer:_ I do not own the title and characters of Yami no matsuei/Descendants of darkness.

Rating: M for language, violence and sexual situations.

Warnings: (1) **YAOI**, meaning 'boy-love'; in other words, love between males. (2) Possible spoilers.

(3) Appearance of a few original characters.

_**Fic title: Love and darkness **_

_**Author : TGO Dr Muraki**_

_**Summary: Mysterious incidents bring the Shinigami back on the trail of Muraki. Their mission: to prevent the mad doctor from causing further mayhem. Unexpected passions complicate matters…**_

_**Italics denote thoughts, as well as words of other languages (mostly Japanese words).**_

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_**Part One**_

_**Oriya: The bonds of love**_

Standing at the crest of the steep pathway he has been climbing for the past hour, he pauses and sighs as the house comes into view. He squints ahead cautiously in the dying light of the ending day, eyes darting around the tranquil grounds surrounding the house, confirming that no trespassers lurk there.

He clicks his tongue, annoyed again at the continued refusal of his friend to have guards posted here, the most recent curt refusal occurring the previous weekend: "I will not have strangers disturbing my peace. You try my patience, Oriya. Do not mention this again." And so, he had reluctantly dropped the subject, more disturbed by the sudden anger that distorted the features on that smooth face than by the possible threat of unwanted visitors to this secluded place he has found for his friend.

Before he continues along the path, wider now and lined with rocks and flowering plants planted by his own hands for his friend's enjoyment, he turns to glance back down the way he has come, watching and listening, making sure that he has not been followed. At the same time he turns back and begins walking again, the timer activated garden lights turn on, suffusing the area in a warm soft glow. He walks past decorative ponds and hears the sound of running water from the splashing of miniature waterfalls. He pauses every now and then to watch the gleaming _koi_, the colors on their forms as they swim languidly, their scales glinting occasionally when they catch the illumination cast by the lanterns. He sighs again, wondering if they have been fed, and making a mental note to see to the task. He is relieved that none are floating dead on the water's surface and a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.

As always, the interior of the house itself is dark, and upon unlocking the main door and entering, he approaches candles set around the hallway and lights them.

Each time he comes here, his emotions conduct a war within him. Excitement and joy at seeing him again, renewed hope – that he might be able to detect some minute change in the occupant of this silent place; dread – that he will see none. Sadness and pain – that his heart still leaps at every first sighting of him, that this fine man who owns his soul has chosen to walk a path steeped in malevolence so profound; that he loves a being so horrifying and so beautiful in one breath. All the more painful and disturbing, as Oriya has seen and known a side of him no other has.

Is it hopeless? Does nothing of his true personality remain? Can he be saved from himself? I do not know the answers, but I cannot give up. I'll be here for him until his heart no longer beats.

Sometimes, he does not want to come at all, when he tries to psyche himself into forgetting that this person exists, turn his back on him once and for all!

_Better that way; he does not need me after all!_

But he always loses the fight with himself, for in his mind and soul, Oriya is wedded to Kazutaka Muraki, as surely as the latter is wedded to his twin mistresses – hatred and vengeance.

He picks up his bag of clothes and supplies and heads down the dark corridor toward the only rooms that his friend uses, a living room and the adjoining bedroom. Sparsely furnished, almost stark living quarters for someone who delighted in every extravagant comfort one could think of!

"Kazutaka, are you here?" Oriya calls out softly before he slides the door of the living room open. The gloom in there tells him that his friend is not in this room and sudden panic causes him to move swiftly to the bedroom, where the sight there offers no relief either.

Instantly, he drops to his knees beside the prone figure on the _futon_, deathly afraid that his friend might be dead. 'Kazu,' he whispers, moving his hand to touch the pale face. His shaking fingers make contact with warm skin, a little too warm, feverish in fact, but Oriya is greatly relieved, finally allowing himself to breath again.

He has long ceased to be affected by the pale blue orb that is never obscured by the closing of its lid. Even though the false eye seems to be glaring at him balefully while the left one remains closed, Oriya knows for certain that his friend is truly asleep. Moonlight streaming in through the open window compensates for the lack of artificial light in the room, and Oriya's heart turns as the love that has always quietly endured within it for this man surges full-blown once again. Taking advantage of Kazutaka's deep sleep, he allows his fingers to play with soft silver and white strands falling around the still face, combing them gently through the silk, indulging himself, unashamed, in this simple pleasurable act that would be denied him if his friend were awake.

"Ah, Kazu. Sometimes, I wish our paths had not crossed. Though I have loved you for so long, I've only tasted your returned love for such a short time." He pauses to emit a low, bitter laugh. "I've only myself to blame I guess, for choosing to remain in love with you. I… I just cannot see my way out, and away from you."

He stares at fever-reddened lips, sensuous in their contours even in sleep, and leans his head close to the one beneath his, a desire taking hold of him – to steal a quick light kiss from them. He stops himself at the very last moment, accepting with deep sadness that such an action will give him no solace at all.

Rising quickly but quietly to his feet, Oriya leaves the bedroom to head to the kitchen, setting his mind firmly to busy himself with preparing a palatable meal for his beloved, knowing fully well that Kazutaka would have neglected to perform the necessity of eating during his absence.

* * *

Pleased that the food placed on Kazu's table-tray is being consumed, albeit slowly, Oriya looks at the face across from him and smiles while spooning more of the special soup he has prepared into the recently drained bowl.

"You must have more of this soup since you are feverish, Kazu."

A quietly spoken word of thanks and a dip of the silver head please Oriya further. The gaunt visage, much thinner than what it used to be, upsets him. He silently prays that Kazu will continue to eat the way he is doing at this moment.

Kazutaka's convalescence has been slow, long and painful, and Oriya inwardly shudders at the memory of his beloved's appearance after the stabbing by Asato Tsuzuki's hand, barely escaping from the ensuing inferno wreaked by the Serpent, summoned by that guardian of death.

Drawing from all of his knowledge in the ancient healing arts, Oriya was the one who had cared for and watched over that wrecked being, broken in body and most certainly at death's door but, incredulously, still raging and raving about being robbed of his vengeance upon Saki! Procuring this secluded dwelling place, here Oriya had sat, spending sleepless days and nights tending to Kazutaka's injuries – the gaping slash wound in his abdomen and the numerous burns on his limbs.

Glancing at Kazu's face, he is thankful that it escaped from being singed by the flames. Any marring of that adored countenance would not have made a difference to Oriya but he is happy nonetheless that it remains pristine – its beauty still inexplicably moves him.

Oriya's eyes grow distant as he remembers those days and nights, listening to Kazu's delirious ravings, watching him toss and turn. He had to administer potions to calm him, as it was imperative for Kazu to remain still to ensure that his abdominal wound did not commence bleeding again. Only when his patient slept did Oriya leave his side, to tend to other tasks – keeping the house spotless, preparing nourishing and healing soups, and poultices for his burns.

During those days, Oriya tried not to dwell upon his hurt, brought on by Kazu's shrieking in his delirium, of two names… _Saki_… _Tsuzuki_…

Over and over, only those two names. Not once had Kazu called for him.

_A heart, sealed by a crust of hate and lust for revenge, barricaded against me and my love…_

When the worst was over and it seemed Kazutaka would recover, the faithful friend and caregiver began to see to the refurbishment of the old house and its gardens, adding aesthetic embellishments for his friend's enjoyment. He hung wind chimes, paintings and scrolls, and built decorative fountains and waterfalls in the ponds, hoping Kazu would take pleasure in them when he became well enough to walk around. While that hope was one reason for his constant toil, there was another: Oriya was afraid of being idle because he was deeply troubled by his friend's state of mind, more so than ever before; his labors kept him from worrying about the future, focusing his thoughts on the 'here and now'.

Kazutaka slept for most of the daylight hours. His fits of raving finally ceased and Oriya coaxed him into spending the evenings in the garden. There, his patient would sit, mute, staring into space and oblivious to his presence as he read to him from the classics, selecting tales that his friend had loved when they were both younger. He did not know if his words were heard, but Oriya persevered, hoping to reach him, to touch a part of him he fervently believed still lay buried deep within the man he cherished – his true self, obscured by all the hurt and madness.

Outside, the strident chirping of crickets intrudes upon the silence as the two men continue their meal. Kazutaka places lacquered wooden chopsticks across his rice bowl and addresses the man with long dark hair.

"I enjoyed that meal, Oriya. Thank you," he says, bowing his head slightly.

The sincerity inflected in Kazutaka's words touch Oriya's heart, quickening his breathing. He drains his cup of _sake_ and flashes his friend a warm smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. Rest now while I clear these…"

"Leave them for now. I feel like a walk… will you join me?"

Oriya scrambles to his feet and rushes to Kazu's side to help him to his feet but is stopped by an uplifted hand. "Really Oriya, you fuss too much, I can manage on my own, thank you!"

Seeing his friend's embarrassment and flushed cheeks when he moves away, Kazutaka appears to soften and moves closer to him, close enough for Oriya's nostrils to detect the personal scent of his friend, a scent that has long bewitched Oriya and swayed him to do his bidding. Since Oriya's height matches his, or to be more precise, exceeds Kazutaka's by two inches, the two men stand eye to eye for a moment. Long pale fingers reach up to curl and cup Oriya's cheek, their tips caressing cream-colored skin while his other hand finds the small of Oriya's back and pulling him close against him, Kazutaka's lips press gently against his companion's cheek, murmuring against it. The warm breath released from Kazu's mouth causes Oriya to tremble, his eyes pinned and hypnotized by the half-lidded silver eye so close to him.

"I have not thanked you, Oriya, for all your care. And so, I say it now, thank you."

A hand reaches up to pull the end of the black silk ribbon that is holding Oriya's rich hair together in a tail. Kazutaka's hands tease the long tresses, his fingers combing through the thick dark brown locks, further increasing their volume. "There, yes, that's so much better. I've always preferred your hair left to fall free." He steps back to admire his handiwork, eyes roaming over Oriya, who is desperately fighting an urge to throw himself against Kazu. He turns around hastily, not wanting Kazu to see how affected he is by his sudden attentions. A sudden anger takes hold of him…

_No! You have not changed! I will not be fooled again! It has always been like this, ever since you told me you could no longer be my lover. But how cruel and unfair you are! You touch me, tease me, whenever you please, and I am not supposed to react. I am nothing but another toy to you. You have related to me all your sexual exploits with others, most of whom have been your unwitting toys and puppets. How many of these have been murdered by your hand? You have told me how you used these individuals, as candidly and calmly as you have spoken to me about your work, research and plans for revenge. You have even described in excruciating detail your acts of seduction directed at Asato Tsuzuki, the one you needed to fulfill your revenge against Saki…_

_Ah! Saki, you bastard! You did this to him, you dragged him into this darkness… you were fortunate indeed to have died like that, so quickly… how unfair! And Kazu turned out like this…_

He is filled with remorse now for becoming angry with the being who is standing behind him, the man who asks softly, "Oriya? What is the matter?"

_I have been powerless to help you, Kazu. My love has not helped you, couldn't stop you from… Ah, I wish I could have helped you, my love._

Engulfed by despair, Oriya hangs his head. In his misery, he exhales; his deep sigh is like the mournful sound of the wind wafting through the trees before a rainstorm, becoming lost in his painful memories. He suppresses a roar, which threatens to rise from the depths of his insides and burst forth from his throat. He feels arms snake around to the front of his chest, warm lips at his ear, hears Kazu's whispered words.

"Come, let us enjoy the night air. After our walk, perhaps you might feel like entertaining me with your _koto. _I do so adore your playing…"

_End of part one_

_To be continued in Part Two: Kazutaka Muraki: The bonds of darkness_

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_Author's notes:_

_(1) Concerning Muraki's blue, prosthetic (?) eye:_

_I know that in the scene set on the Queen Camellia, with Muraki lying on the canopied bed in his cabin, supposedly dead, both of his eyes are closed. Forgive me for the inaccuracy, but for some strange reason, I prefer his blue eye to constantly remain open. Thanks for putting up with my foibles!_

_(2) I adore Oriya as much as I do Muraki and Tsuzuki. He did not strike me as being just any old friend of Muraki. He seemed so sad and affected when Muraki asked him for that last favor, so much so I'm convinced that there is or was much more going on between these two than what we were allowed to see._

_(3) A koto is a Japanese harp or zither, about 2 meters in length, with 13 strings, played by plucking picks attached to the right thumb, index and middle fingers. The fingers of the left hand can used to modify pitch and tone. This instrument is used either as a solo instrument or in an ensemble._

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	2. Chapter 2

**_Part Two_**

**_Kazutaka Muraki: The bonds of darkness_**

_"Spring has come and the branches bend, heavy with their burden of cherry blossoms._

_"The children play, run and sing. The world around me is filled with laughter."_

Kazutaka Muraki sits with his back leaning against the wall of the veranda, gazing at the milky-white and silver half-moon suspended in the indigo-hued sky, with its retinue of myriad twinkling stars in attendance. He smiles approvingly, delighting in the resonant and lilting, deep male voice accompanying the melodious sounds of the _koto_, its strings being worked by graceful hands nimbly moving to and fro, dancing like pale butterflies across the instrument.

_"But inside my heart, a harsh winter has descended, for my lover has told me he is leaving._

_"Why can I not go with you, I ask, as he wipes the tears upon my face with warm, gentle fingers._

_"Because you cannot follow me to where I am going, my love, he tells me."_

The listener turns his face from the sky, his gaze and attention now completely directed at Oriya. He realizes that he has not heard this song before and wonders if the lyrics and music are being composed _extempore_, knowing that his friend is extremely talented in this respect. He inwardly chuckles, remembering the numerous patrons of Oriya's business establishment, going there occasionally exclusively to hear him sing, instead of merely to dine or indulge in pleasures of the flesh.

A smile of amusement plays upon Kazutaka's lips as he recalls the many men among Oriya's clientele, whose tastes preferred or included masculine flesh, their hearts crushed by his friend's outright spurning of their amorous advances.

As he sweeps his natural eye over the man, attractively clad in a rust colored _kimono_, bound with a sash of yellow and orange motifs, his long legs tucked beneath him, emotions, long forgotten and buried, begin to stir deep within Kazutaka Muraki, causing chills to zip along the length of his back, making the tiny hairs on his skin stand on end. His senses are riveted now on Oriya, everything around him seeming to fade away, his vision seeing only the man a few feet away from him, who sits at his instrument, back straight and strong upper body still, the head bowed, his concentration focused solely upon his singing and playing. His hazel eyes appear distant, catching the light when they open every now and then. Shiny strands of his long dark mane billow and swirl when a sudden breeze catches them, and when they fall back into place, Kazutaka feels a tear tracking down his cheek.

_"When will you return to me, I ask, even though I already know what his answer will be._

_"He does not reply but only sighs, and I smell his breath, as sweet as the scent of the pink petals dancing in the wind."_

Kazutaka finds himself holding his breath as Oriya's voice dips, holding the word 'sweet', quavering, his vocal acrobatics astounding as always. He is staring at the fine-boned face, in repose now with eyes closed and lips still, intent upon the music crafted by the ever-moving hands upon the _koto._

_Still so very beautiful you are, Oriya! You have not changed much since I first kissed your sweet, eager lips. What an exquisite doll you are! You have even dressed yourself especially for me; I recall purchasing that very robe for you. How very long ago it seems, that day I dressed you in that garment myself, thrilled by the rising blush in your cheeks. Your lovely eyes held me spellbound and I lost control, almost tearing the fabric as I disrobed you… felt you shudder beneath me when my hands slid between your thighs…_

Oriya takes up his singing once again, pulling Kazutaka back to the present. Dazed by a heart-wrenching sense of nostalgia, he watches Oriya's fluttering hands, his heart beginning to race when an alternate image of one of those hands – grasping the hilt of a _katana_ – flashes in his mind.

_What versatile hands, capable of eliciting such emotive sounds from your koto, as well as wield your katana with such strength, slicing it through the air with such precision._

He had always enjoyed observing his friend at his swordplay, thrilled by the power controlling and propelling the swings and thrusts of his blade, deadly enough to maim or kill if he so chose.

Yes, he remembers now, back when they had been lovers, he had been amazed and aroused by the fact that Oriya's brute strength seemed to desert him whenever they made love. During their passionate play, the powerful body seemed to transform into a submissive, supple instrument waiting to be played, lush and desirable in its need to be caressed, to be loved and to give pleasure. The contrasting states of Oriya's body, oozing masculine strength one moment, and femininely pliant when in bed with him, held a mysterious power over Kazutaka, filling him with a desire so intense that it seemed nothing and no-one could quench it. But, time and again, laying and joining with Oriya did completely slake his passionate urges.

More hazy memories waft through his mind: Oriya, his eyes wet and sorrowful, holding him tightly, rocking him as he clung to his friend, his grief pushing him to the edge of madness. At his parents' funerals, seeking out Oriya's face among the mourners, finding it and focusing on it to hold himself together. Oriya, always at hand, taking on the multiple roles of parent, brother, cherished friend and, eventually, lover. Oriya's love and support making him forget his pain, bringing him to a point where he thought he knew what he wanted – to heal and tend to the sick, going home to a peaceful life and the arms of Oriya. Both of them turning twenty, exchanging vows and rings…

_Ah, yes, I remember… the air was so sweet and fresh with the approach of spring…I wanted to rip your clothes off and make love to you on the grass, under the stars…I had been so deeply in love with you then, hadn't I…? Where is your ring, the one you placed on my finger that day?_

Kazutaka's brow furrows as he tries to remember what had become of that symbol of Oriya's love, but draws a blank; his mercury-colored iris shifts to Oriya's left hand. There, encircling his third finger, a band of gleaming platinum.

_I remember! You kissed me after you read the engravings on the inside of the ring… I placed it on your finger as I told you… Why have I not noticed it there, all these years? Why have I not remembered these things before now?_

Oriya's voice pierces the fog in his mind and his vision blurs before everything around him begins to tilt and spin madly. He shuts his eye tightly, clutching his head with his hands as a vile sickness rises in his chest.

_"My lover turns and begins to walk away from me._

_"What shall I do, what shall I say, what can I do to make him stay?_

_"I will wait for you, I whisper, even though I know he will not hear me._

_"When dawn comes, the one who was left behind lies cold and still upon the bed, never more to wake, never more to wear gaily colored kimonos, never more to laugh, dance and sing."_

Oriya glides his right hand over the _koto_. The picks attached to his thumb and fingers pluck the last notes of his song, the sounds gradually diminishing in volume, his lament reaching its end. His eyes are moist as he draws a deep breath and bows his head. When he raises his head at last, his eyes seeking Kazu's face, he is stunned to discover the ashen, bewildered countenance, cheek beneath his left eye streaked with tears.

Overcoming his initial shock, Oriya rushes over to his friend, dropping to his knees. Pulling him close, he cradles Kazutaka's body against his chest, bringing their heads close together. With renewed shock, he realizes Kazu's robe is damp with sweat. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he panics when he feels the icy sweat pouring from the skin beneath his hand, terrified that he may have suffered a heart attack.

"Kazu! Kazu! Can you hear me? My love, please hold on, Kazu…"

The head he is holding begins to shift, its left eye, dull and glazed, rolls upward before a violent spasm rocks Kazu's body.

Oriya sobs as he holds on to Kazu's stricken, writhing frame.

"Oh, my love," he cries, clinging desperately to his beloved, until the spasm passes and Kazu's body lies still, limp in his arms. He is somewhat relieved that Kazu has not slipped into unconsciousness and that his eye is still looking up at him.

"Kazu! I must get you to a hospital. You are very sick, Kazu. I will call Yoshida to come get us, please hold on, please, hold on for me…"

_Damn it! My phone's in the living room…_

"Kazu, just lie still here, I'll be back…"

"No. No hospital," Kazu murmurs, pulling Oriya close. "Don't leave me, stay with me, please…"

"Kazu, please, I must get help…"

Kazutaka's hands cling to Oriya's arms, moving his head feebly from side to side.

"I'll be all right, it's nothing, I'll be fine, stay with me…"

Oriya releases a ragged sigh. He feels Kazu's rapid breathing begin to slow down. As he has been doing since pulling Kazu close to him, he continues to silently invoke the name of the goddess he believes in, pleading to that deity to help his friend. His lips move as he soundlessly recites the incantations to summon the deity's healing power, his hand slowly moving over Kazu, stroking his face and chest, until at last, he sees the dullness in the silver eye diminishing. Encouraged by this, he carries on his silent praying, while thanking his deity repeatedly for answering his prayer. He is aware of an unaccountable exhaustion creeping over his body, a feeling akin to one of having fought a long, hard duel with his _katana_, only more intense than that, and a part of him is puzzled by this sensation as he has never experienced anything like it before.

Kazu's voice, whispering and hoarse, stirs him and he feels a clammy hand on his cheek and looks down to see the silver eye, staring at him in wonderment.

"Oriya? Is it you?"

"Yes, Kazu, I'm here. I won't leave you, I'll always be here for you."

"Where have you been? It has been so long since I've seen you… where have I… what have I… oh, dear gods, what have I been doing…?"

Oriya draws a sharp intake of breath, half-afraid of believing what he is witnessing. There is something… something, an expression in Kazutaka's face that he has not seen for a long time. It reminds Oriya of his childhood days - being frustrated by the rainy season because he could not go out to play in the sunshine. And then one day, looking out of his window to find the sun, a part of it peeking out of a break in the dark clouds. As he watched, the sun's rays finally conquered the rain clouds, filling young Oriya's world with joy…

He presses his lips to Kazu's damp forehead, his tears flowing anew. But these are tears of joy, not sadness. He rains kisses on his beloved's face and is totally unprepared for what ensues –

A sudden, horrific force jolts his body backwards, lifting and hurling him yards away from Kazu, slamming him heavily against the far wall of the veranda. He lays there, helpless and moaning, limp where he has fallen, his whole body wracked by excruciating, burning pain. He wills himself to turn his head, trying to locate Kazutaka with his eyes. His eyes widen in horror, for there is Kazu's body, lying on the floor, writhing again in a fit, spasms twisting his body grotesquely, mouth gaping and roaring in pain, head thrown back, his neck muscles bulging. A thick mist surrounds him, forming a black aura around him.

"No, Kazu, no…" cries Oriya brokenly.

Just before he feels a blackness beginning to wash over him, he sees Kazu's body rising in the air, lifted by the mist, which shifts and swirls, gradually taking on the forms of numerous, black arms and hands. Weakly, he calls the name of his deity for aid, but with crushing sorrow, he knows he is losing the fight.

The last thing Oriya sees with blurred vision before passing out is Kazutaka, enshrouded in that churning miasma of black vapor, and several pairs of eerie red eyes, glowing ominously from among the slithering, twisting dark shapes.

"Kazutaka…"

_End of part two _

_To be continued in Part Three: Asato Tsuzuki & Yutaka Watari: Secret passions_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Part Three_**

_**Asato Tsuzuki & Yutaka Watari: Secret passions**_

Sunlight steals through a gap in the billowing curtains at the window, gradually warming the bedroom that cooled during the night. The bands of light reach the edge of a bed, playing over a worn, tattered book, fallen to the floor and left to stand on its pages, spread like an accordion. The rays move along the sheet, beneath which lies a man, yet to awaken, still trapped in his dream.

It is a pleasurable dream, of a nature this man regularly experiences. In these said dreams, the dreamer sees himself in various scenes of romantic overtures – being seduced by a voice thick with passion, smiled at by sensuous lips, stared at by lust-filled eyes, whispered to, teased by fleeting touches, embraced and caressed, kissed, and undressed.

The backdrops and settings of his dreams are always magnificent, the minutest details in them clearly perceived by the dreamer: He and his lover, standing upon the sands of a beach, the air saturated by sunshine and the salt of the ocean. Walking together among stalks of tall wind-blown grass, and looking up to see, when pointed to by his lover, majestic white cranes, each pair of their wide wings flapping in perfect unison with the others'. The wine they imbibe is richly scented, its color like that of liquefied rubies; his lover dipping his fingers into the glass, signaling the start of their foreplay, transmitting his desire with his eyes; and he, the dreamer, sees himself licking the droplets on his lover's fingers. The bedrooms he finds himself in are always opulent and richly decorated; the cool silk beneath his head and unclothed body caress his skin while he writhes from the assault of his lover's kisses and licks.

On the other hand and in striking contrast, the dreamer can never make out the face of his dream lover. Although the lover in his dreams is always a man - the dreamer has no difficulties with this, well aware and accepting of his preferences, his dream lover is always faceless. His voice is beyond description in its singular attractiveness. He is impeccably dressed, perfectly mannered, possesses a remarkably beautiful physique, but remains faceless in every dream in which he appears.

Invariably, the dreamer always wakes up at the same point, or the dreams end at the same point – without reaching any grand finales. As such, the dreamer is always dismayed, frustrated, and remains somewhat testy until he swallows his first sip of over sweetened coffee.

This morning however, this particular dream is continuing well beyond the point where the previous ones always came to abrupt ends and the dreamer always awoke. And so, the man still slumbers deeply, held captive by his dream… until some moments later, he jolts upright in the bed, gasping and wide-eyed.

"No way…! Over my dead body…! What am I saying…? I'm already dead…!"

Asato Tsuzuki rakes an agitated hand through his mussed hair and utters a sound of disgust before flinging himself backwards on the mattress, feeling as though he has not gotten any sleep at all. "No way," he hisses, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut to dispel the residual images of the last moments of his dream. When he opens his eyes, he frowns, and then winces, all too aware now of the evidence of his body's response to the events that took place in his most recent dream. With shame and self-revulsion, he leaps out of his bed and dashes to the bathroom, desperately in need of a thorough scrubbing.

* * *

Feeling somewhat calmer after a hot, leisurely shower, Asato Tsuzuki reaches for his robe. While tying the sash around his waist, he hears his doorbell chiming.

"Geez! Who could that be?" he mutters while toweling his hair. The doorbell begins to ring again, incessantly.

"All right! I'm coming!" he calls out, quickening his stride out of his bedroom. He opens the door to find his colleague, Watari, beaming at him.

"Good morning, Tsuzuki-san! How are you today? May I come in?"

"Um, good morning, Watari-san. I'm well, thank you. Er, what brings you here?"

"Well, um, you were somewhat late showing up at Shinigami headquarters, and I've been calling your phone but you failed to answer, so I…" Watari's lilting speech halts as he lifts his shoulders apologetically. The movement of his left shoulder stirs the little dozing owl perched there amid cascading honey-blond wavy locks and its round eyes pop open. With a flurry of brown wings, it launches itself off of Watari's shoulder and flies into Asato's living room, landing on the top of a cabinet and begins to hoot contentedly.

"Hey! Mind your manners! We haven't been given permission to enter yet," calls Watari to the bird, shrugging in apology as he faces Asato again.

A flustered Asato immediately steps backwards and sweeps his arm out in a welcoming gesture. "Ah, I'm sorry. Please come in, Watari, and forgive me for not answering your phone calls. I've been in the shower…"

Gesticulating wildly with his hands, Watari interrupts, "It's all right, Tsuzuki-san, but… Chief Konoe is a little, ah, bent out of shape because you are, um, late…"

"Damn! I'm in trouble with him again!" mumbles a crestfallen Asato.

"Well, if you don't want to be in more hot water, you'd better get a move on and get dressed, Tsuzuki-san. He wants us all gathered for a briefing in half an hour. There have been some, ah, happenings…"

Asato dashes into his bedroom, addressing Watari over his shoulder. "You can come in and bring me up to date while I change, Watari."

Watari trots after Asato, peering around at the Spartan furnishings of his colleague's lodgings and shakes his head in shared sympathy.

_Such is the existence of an underpaid Shinigami. Hmm, I've been with the agency for almost two hundred years and haven't received a single raise in my salary since I joined them… perhaps I should put in a request for a transfer… I hear the chaps in the purgatorial levels are paid much more than us Shinigami… but then again, it's a pretty daunting place… I don't think I'm cut out for that kind of work… hmm, nah, I'd better stay put here for a while; the pay sure sucks, but I've grown awfully fond of the folks here…_

"So tell me, Watari, what were these happenings?"

Looking around and not finding a chair in the room, Watari sits on Asato's unmade bed. He glances at the slender silhouette moving behind the dressing screen for a moment before looking away, focusing at a point in the distance as he collects his thoughts.

"Well, there were two incidents. The first one was an unexplained disturbance, a mysterious upheaval in the spirit realm felt by many, especially the more powerful beings. The Lord of Meifu sensed it, as did the Chief. Tatsumi and Bon felt something as well, although on a lesser scale, like some minor shockwaves, but I did not. Did you feel anything, Tsuzuki-san?"

"When did this phenomenon occur?" asks Asato, stepping into view from behind the screen, beginning to fasten his tie.

"Around midnight last night," Watari replies.

Asato frowns, shaking his head. "Hmm, midnight… I was reading… no, I didn't sense anything." Looking into the mirror atop a tallboy as he adjusts the knot of his tie, Asato continues. "And what else?"

Watari crosses his legs and intertwines his fingers over his knee, keeping his eyes trained on the back of Asato's head. "Ah. This should… interest you, Tsuzuki-san."

The mahogany-haired man at the dresser turns to face his colleague, puzzlement clouding his expression. "And why, may I ask?"

Watari's eyebrows rise in response. "Because it concerns the lifespan candle of a certain someone… who kept us fairly busy last year…"

Asato's stiffens, his expression becoming angered, amethyst eyes darkening. "Don't tell me," he snarls, gritting his teeth. "Muraki!"

"Spot on!" exclaims the bespectacled blond, clapping his hands together, a little surprised by the deep scarlet blush on Asato's cheeks and ears. "Exactly, my friend, that mad doctor's candle… its flame surged with amazing force and the candle itself now has a black aura surrounding it. This occurred immediately after the bizarre tumult, that rocking in the nether world. Our ruler himself is most puzzled by the candle's appearance; Chief Konoe saw it, summoned by the Count to view it. Chief remarked that nothing like it has ever been witnessed before."

"I… I see," murmurs the dark-haired guardian, his hands visibly trembling as he runs them over his hot, red face.

Watari tilts his head to squint at Tsuzuki out of concern for his colleague, since he knows what transpired between the man before him and that enigmatic, evil foe of his, Doctor Muraki.

"Tsuzuki-san, are you all right?"

"I… I'm fine. We ought to get going. Now, where did I put my wrist watch?" Asato looks around, distractedly scratching the top of his tousled head, making his hair even more mussed.

"There it is, on your nightstand," replies Watari, rising and moving to pick up the watch. His foot unintentionally kicks the book lying on the floor by the bed. "Oops, sorry!" After handing the watch to Asato, he bends to pick up the book; while closing it, he cannot help but glance at its cover. "Ah, I see you like romance novels, Tsuzuki-san," he quips as he places the paperback on the nightstand before turning around to see his colleague, clearly embarrassed and unable to look him in the eye. "Oh relax, my friend! I enjoy reading them myself! I find them thoroughly entertaining," he says exuberantly, nudging Asato's ribs with a cheeky wink. Lowering his voice and speaking close to Asato's ear conspiratorially, he adds, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your preferences in reading material if you promise not to squeal on me, especially to Tatsumi-san," Watari pauses to roll his eyes, "I'll never hear the end of it! Say, Tsuzuki-san, may I… borrow that book when you've finished with it?"

Asato responds, relieved at not being made fun of. "Sure. Take it, I've read it countless of times already. I've been too busy to pick up something new to read."

Watari grabs the book and inserts it in a pocket of his overcoat, thanking Asato with a delighted smile. Patting his pocket contentedly, he sighs. "Yes indeed, romance novels are like Prozac to an overworked Shinigami with no time for any love life," muses Watari regretfully.

Asato sighs in sympathy. "Yes, how true."

As the two Shinigami make they way out of the apartment, Asato asks, "By the way, where is Hisoka?"

"Ah, Bon is busy with his research as usual. He'll meet us at headquarters. Has he told you anything about what he's researching?"

"He wouldn't tell me when I asked… I guess he wants to keep it to himself."

* * *

"Ah! I see you've managed to drag yourself here, Tsuzuki! How nice of you to grace us with your presence! Have a seat you two, so we can finally begin."

Asato winces at his chief's icy tone, and scuttles to his chair. "I apologize, Chief, and to everyone, for keeping you waiting," he offers, glancing at his partner, Hisoka, and then at Tatsumi, who smiles at him with his eyes while his face remains unreadable.

"I presume Watari has filled you in. What I want to know, Tsuzuki, is what you think about it, since we may be in for more trouble from Kazutaka Muraki. I swear that man is a downright menace! Although I'm not supposed to harbor such thoughts, I sometimes wish that his candle would just extinguish, if only to spare more innocents from dying before their time is up." Konoe's face darkens, and his hands bunch into fists on the table. "Right, Tsuzuki, do you have any suggestions as to what we should do?"

"Well, I suggest we try to determine his whereabouts. He's definitely alive, that much we know. Watari tells me that investigations are being conducted to find out about the changed appearance of his lifespan candle and the shake-up in the spirit world last night. While we wait for some answers, it would be advisable to find him at once and at least keep an eye on him."

"Hmm… I agree with you. Do you have any idea where to start? Does anyone have any ideas?"

"I do, Chief," Watari replies, shifting Konoe's gaze from Asato to the blond, who returns his superior's enquiring look with a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps we can start with Muraki's old school mate; he might know something…"

"My question is," interrupts Tatsumi, "would he be willing to divulge anything that would help us?"

"Nothing to lose or gain if we don't try is my answer, Tatsumi," replies Watari. "The last time we encountered Oriya, I sensed something about him. There's no doubt that those two are pretty chummy – it's quite obvious he must have provided Muraki with some help with his, ah, 'hobbies'. He wouldn't have provided a place for that psycho to stay if they weren't particularly close, and he seemed to know a lot about his friend's activities, not to mention his motivations; that, and… what I sensed, a certain… despair, and deep sorrow. I'm pretty sure those have something to do with Muraki…" Watari's voice drops as he removes his glasses to place them on the table.

The others around the table remain silent as they watch him. The gesture is unfamiliar to them, as Watari hardly ever removes his spectacles; they've never even seen him take them off to wipe them – the only time he takes them off is before he goes to sleep. They've never known him to fidget either, and his action now of worrying at his upper lip with his finger is equally uncharacteristic of their usually composed colleague.

Completely oblivious to the fact that his colleagues are observing him closely, Watari's gaze falls to stare into the tea in his mug, vividly remembering the haunted expression he saw in a pair of arrestingly attractive hazel eyes, just before he, Tatsumi and Bon dashed off to save Asato that night in Kyoto.

'_I'm just a ghost dwelling in the shadows…' was what he said. But what an enchanting ghost you are… I can't seem to forget you… _

Konoe clears his throat, drawing the others' attention, including a considerably flustered Watari's, back to him. The blond hastily picks up his glasses and slides them back on into place, focusing on Konoe's craggy, lined face once more.

Meanwhile, Hisoka Kurosaki's thoughts have been brought back to that night as well, recalling his duel with that tall and lean, pale skinned man who had challenged him, cajoled him alongside the clashing of their blades into finding his strength, his confidence, to determine his reasons for his fight – was his fight fuelled by his hatred of Muraki or by his love for Tsuzuki? The whole thing and the outcome of that duel had been so unexpected, so surprising to Hisoka. Oh, he wanted to fight and win, that much was certain, but how it had transpired, and the lessons he had learned during that battle – those were not something Hisoka could have foreseen. His confusion had been crushed and replaced by a fierce determination to protect someone he cared for… by Oriya himself.

_Oriya – he could have without a doubt trounced me with the very first swing of his katana, I know that. But he wanted me to fight - but for the right reasons, and to win - so I could save Tsuzuki… well, I don't know what his motivations were, but I never forgot the lessons I learned that night from a complete stranger, and a supposed enemy at that._

_What was it he said before we left to rescue Tsuzuki? I think it was, 'everyone has their reasons for fighting, even a madman…' He must have been referring to Muraki. _

A shiver runs along Hisoka's spine, remembering those dark, twisted emotions he had gleaned when he was held captive by that man in Nagasaki - he who had destroyed his innocence and condemned him to a slow and agonizing death. With an effort, he cuts off the stream of painful memories and images flowing through his mind and glances back at Watari, pondering about his recent remarks concerning Oriya, and sees the blond Shinigami fidgeting with his ballpoint pen, his expression uncharacteristically distracted and the scarlet flush on his cheeks, before turning his attentions to Konoe.

"All right, it's settled for now. I am ordering a change in partners for this current plan of action. Kurosaki, I do not want you partnering Tsuzuki at this point, since his objective is to search for Muraki, and something tells me he'll bump into him sooner than we expect. I cannot have you anywhere near that psychopathic murderer, do you understand, and I will not hear any objections from you." Konoe's glare bores into Hisoka's big, flashing peridot eyes, and he raises a warning finger when the youthful Shinigami opens his mouth.

The indignant youth looks over at Tatsumi, who placidly pushes up his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I agree with and support Chief's decision, Hisoka. Please accept it and take on the responsibility of providing both Tsuzuki and Watari with information gathering. They will stay in touch with you and you will be the liaison officer between them and us here at headquarters, all right, Hisoka?" Tatsumi flashes a kindly smile at his young colleague, and is pleased by his nod and murmured word of acceptance.

"Very well then." Konoe rises to his feet, addressing his blond subordinate, "Watari, you will team up with Tsuzuki until I decide otherwise. You two please prepare to leave for Kyoto at once. You are all dismissed, thank you all for coming."

_**End of part three**_

_**To be continued in Part Four,  
Chapter One – Oriya: In the arms of darkness  
Chapter Two – Yutaka Watari: Caught in a web of desire**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Part Four, Chapter One **_

_**Oriya: In the arms of darkness**_

He has been dreaming: of falling into a pool of black, icy liquid; floundering, slowly suffocating as he struggles to rise to the surface. Being grabbed by shadows with skeletal claws and dragged back down into the murky depths. There, he kicks and flails to free himself from the red-eyed wraiths that have snared him.

"Don't be frightened, I'm here. This is my world. Be with me. I love you."

The whispering voice belongs to the one he loves, and he calms, stops his struggling, calling to his lover with his mind, fearful of opening his mouth and swallowing the black water.

I'm here, look, open your eyes." He obeys and sees his lover in front of him, beckoning with open arms. The shadowy creatures retreat, and he propels his body toward his beloved and is embraced, wrapped by strong arms. His lover showers kisses on his face and he is no longer afraid and confused. "Yes, this is where you belong, you are mine, forever."

He is being made love to, penetrated, and his pleasure intensifies. When his pleasure peaks, he cries out…

His own scream awakens him. He feels cold in spite of the glaring light of the midday sun bathing the gardens outside his room with warmth. Remembering the events of the previous night, he jolts upright on his bed, but a dizzy sensation causes him to lie back down on the pillows, closing his eyes to shut out the sight of the spinning room.

"Kazutaka…" he whispers, and feels a weight settling on the bed beside him. Turning his head slowly and opening his eyes, he sees his friend's face looming close. Not daring to believe what he is seeing, he reaches with a trembling hand to touch the dazzling form. His hand is grasped, turned and Kazutaka's lips kiss his palm tenderly. Those soft lips move to his wrist, stopping at the point where Oriya's pulse beats.

"Kazu! Last night… Are you hurt? I saw… you were so ill…!"

"Shhh… I'm perfectly fine, as you can see. You must have had a bad dream, Oriya. You look exhausted. How do you feel now?"

Oriya shakes his head, frowning. "I… I'm just… very tired…"

"Of course you are, and I'm the cause of it. You have been looking after me all this time with no thought to your own well-being. So it's my turn to look after you now."

Oriya's elation at seeing his friend, well and uninjured, is blunted by his confusion and disbelief.

_This can't be happening. How can he be sitting here, whole… and so radiant! He looks so vital, and even more beautiful than before… I thought he was about to be destroyed… by those… things… what were they…?_

"But, Kazu, last night, you were having terrible fits… I was holding you in my arms… something knocked me away from you… I saw…"

"Last night?" The features on Kazutaka's serene face shift, his pale eyebrows knitting with puzzlement. "Nothing happened. You must have dreamt all that." A seductive chuckle rumbles in his throat. "After you sang that beautiful song for me, you told me you were tired and wanted to retire to bed, don't you remember? In fact, you were so exhausted I assisted you to bed. My conscience pricks me, seeing you like this. I'll take care of you now, Oriya. Sleep a little while longer while I fix you something to eat."

Oriya starts to rise. "No, I'll be all right…"

He is stopped by powerful hands pushing him back on to the pillows, his words cut off by lips pressed full on his, tenderly lingering there. He cannot help it when his arms reach around Kazutaka's neck, pulling him closer. A hunger courses through him as he savors the taste of Kazu's lips, gliding his tongue along them. When Kazutaka's tongue slides into his mouth, he feels the heaviness of arousal in his groin. He hears his own sighs and moans as the tongue of the man he has so missed making love with dances with his own. Kicking at the bed covers to free his legs, he is aware for the first time since waking that he is completely naked. Oriya lifts his legs and locks them around the man above him. Kazutaka breaks their kiss, and again that sensuous laugh fills his ears.

"Not now, my love, wait a little while. You must rest while I bring food for you," Kazu pauses to nuzzle Oriya's neck, "and after that, I'll make you mine again."

Later, although Oriya is still confused, a part of his mind questioning everything Kazu has told him, his denial of anything out of the ordinary having happened the night before, he succumbs once again to the charms of his friend, who insists on feeding him soup.

Kazutaka laughs at Oriya's embarrassment and his red cheeks, as he spoons soup into his mouth. Between mouthfuls, the dark-haired man keeps insisting that he can eat by himself.

"Tsk, tsk, Oriya! There's no need for you to be embarrassed, although I must say you look ravishing when you blush like that. Indulge me, will you? After all, I'm only repaying your kindnesses, for all those days and nights when you so tenderly fed me and cared for me. Here, try some of this fish."

Kazutaka's radiant face and delighted smile bewitch Oriya. The latter's lingering doubts are quashed as he is lulled by kisses on his lips after he has consumed everything on the platter.

"It is as though I have awakened from a long sleep, my love," whispers Kazutaka as he embraces Oriya. "This is how it was supposed to have been, the both of us together, belonging to each other, wasn't it?"

Oriya looks deep into his friend's natural eye and finds it alight with adoration. Happiness washes through him as he slumps, limp as a rag doll against Kazutaka. He does not object when he finds himself being lifted off the bed and carried out of the bedroom, Kazutaka bearing his weight effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing at all…

He is drowsy, lolling blissfully in a tub of warm, fragrant water. Cracking his eyes open, he sees the nude form of Kazutaka stepping in and sliding himself into the water beside him. Astonished, he opens his mouth to speak, to form words to his question, but Kazutaka's hands, gliding over his skin, washing him with a cloth, vanquish his efforts. Oriya runs his fingers over Kazutaka's belly, seeking to confirm what his eyes behold – for the man in front of him is completely free of scars! The livid, jagged wound on the left side of his torso is gone, as are the marks left by the burns.

"Yes, I am completely healed. I grew tired of feeling so debilitated, and I found myself strong enough to work a healing spell last night, while you slept. I'm whole again, all for you, perfect again for you. Do you love me, Oriya? Do you want me?"

Oriya gasps, finding his voice at last. "Yes, I love you… yes… yes, I want you…"

Although his eyes are open, he sees nothing, only white-hot light, when he is laid upon the bed, panting with raging lust. His body, all its nerves wound tight, writhes and responds to every caress, kiss and bite with hisses and moans, and finally becomes the eager receptacle of Kazutaka's need, every thrust filling him with ecstasy…

* * *

**_Part Four, Chapter Two _**

**_Yutaka Watari: Caught in a web of desire_**

Upon entering the front entrance of Kokakuro, Tsuzuki and Watari find themselves having to join a queue of people waiting for tables for lunch. Having arrived in Kyoto via the immortal teleportation method directly in the near vicinity of Oriya's place of business shortly after noon and making the short walk there on foot, the pair of Shinigami decide to dine, their decision dictated by their complaining stomachs.

"Judging from the number of people waiting to get in, the cuisine here must be good," remarks Watari to his companion.

Tsuzuki balks, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "I can't say that I care whether it's good or not, since I'm so famished. Missing breakfast doesn't do any good to my disposition, I can tell you." The Shinigami reads the sign on the wall indicating the opening hours of the restaurant-cum-'house of pleasure'. "This place opens six days a week for lunch, closes at three and opens again at six in the evening for dinner, and, as you've mentioned, there's the clandestine 'night entertainment services' for the rich and powerful. This Oriya fellow must be very wealthy indeed," adds Tsuzuki in a low voice. "We'll ask to speak to the master of the house after we've had lunch. Say, Watari, you've met this guy before. Do you think he's going to cooperate and tell us where Muraki is?"

Watari appears to be considering, eyes downcast, before he replies. "Well, it's hard to say… he definitely displayed loyalties to Muraki… It occurred to me that the whole episode of the duel thing between him and Hisoka was just a time-stalling ploy. How did he come to have the cardkey to Muraki's basement vault? Muraki must have known that we would be hot on his trail, gave Oriya the card, hoping to win some time to carry out his crazy exploits. Then again, I wonder why Muraki bothered to give Oriya the cardkey at all… if not for that, we wouldn't have been able to stop him at all… it's almost as if he wanted us to find him, but where that guy is concerned, who knows what his thoughts are… I… do remember though, that underneath the brave face Oriya wore that night, there was a pervading sense of desperation emanating from him, like a cry for help… well, we'll just have to wait and see what happens when we meet him."

* * *

After settling their check, Watari summons the cheerful waitress who has been attending to them, noticing that her sloe eyes linger somewhat longingly on his colleague, and asks to see Oriya.

The young woman smiles shyly, glancing at Tsuzuki again. "The master? I'm afraid he isn't here at the moment," she replies while collecting the dishes on their table.

The dark-haired Shinigami smiles kindly at her. "Do you happen to know when he will be back? We really need to speak with him."

Self-conscious now from Tsuzuki's keen gaze, his eyes holding hers, she answers tentatively, "I… I don't know, sir, but… I'll try to find out," before scurrying off with her laden tray.

A short while later, a middle-aged man with graying hair and alert dark eyes approaches their table and bows respectfully. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Yoshida, assistant to Master Oriya. I have been informed that you wish to see him. My master is away and is expected back in a few days. Do you wish to leave your calling cards? I will get in touch with you when my master returns and agrees to meet you. Please understand that he is a very busy man, so most respectfully, I must inquire as to the purpose of your wanting to meet him."

"Ah, we're old school friends of your master, and we just wanted to pay him a surprise visit," Watari replies with a laugh. Shrugging, he continues. "But since he's not here, we'll just have to come by again, won't we, Tetsuo?"

"Yes, we'll drop in again towards the end of the week," replies Tsuzuki, playing along with his colleague's ruse. "Since we really wish to surprise him, we would appreciate it if you wouldn't mention our visit today," he adds amiably.

"Oh, of course, I understand, sirs. I'm sure Oriya-sama will be most happy to see his old school friends."

"Excellent! Thank you for your time, Yoshida-san." Tsuzuki rises and bows politely to the older man, with Watari following suit.

* * *

Reluctant to believe Yoshida's words as the truth and unwilling to make another unfruitful visit, Watari and Tsuzuki decide to keep watch at Kokakuro.

In the afternoon of the third day of their stakeout, Watari, in invisible form at his post across the street from the private back entrance, straightens up from his slouch against a fence-post as a sleek, black car pulls up. After the chauffeur opens the rear passenger door facing the curb, a head of dark brown hair followed by broad shoulders appears above the line of the car's hood. Watari swallows, his throat suddenly dry. When the car pulls away, his eyes sweep over the entire form of Oriya as he strides unhurriedly on long legs toward the entrance, his cascading hair ruffled by the breeze. The Shinigami's chest constricts as he watches the tall man, casually attired in dark trousers and pale blue shirt, the belt dividing the two garments emphasizing his slender waist. As he approaches the door, Yoshida appears, bows low and steps aside to allow his master to enter.

After Oriya disappears from his sight, Watari remains stock-still, his emotions churning, as he can no longer deny the truth of his feelings: he is attracted to the master of Kokakuro. His heart is pounding in his chest as he raises his hand to cover the top half of his face, mentally kicking himself.

_Get a hold of yourself, Watari, you fool! You're a two hundred and seven year old immortal, for goodness sake, not some silly schoolboy with a crush! You're a Shinigami on a job, to boot! Job! Damn it!_

Huffing, he fishes in his pocket for his phone, drops it and suppresses an oath while retrieving it from the pavement. Scowling, he frantically tries to recall which one of the numerical keys is the one-touch for Tsuzuki's phone. Seconds pass until he finally remembers, and hears his partner's voice on the line.

"Tsuzuki-san… he's here… right… stay there, I'm coming over." As he makes his way to the front entrance where Tsuzuki is waiting, the blond Shinigami manages to laugh at himself half-heartedly, attempting to talk himself into believing that he is merely experiencing a passing infatuation…

* * *

In Oriya's bedchamber, Yoshida is drying his master's hair with a towel, while the latter lounges on a chaise with the back of his neck resting on the top edge of the inclined back rest.

"I see. Describe them to me." Oriya's eyes are closed while he listens to his trusted servant.

"Do you know them, master?" asks Yoshida, while he runs a comb through the damp, dark hair.

After a moment's pause, Oriya murmurs, "Yes, I do. Please show them every courtesy when they come again."

"Of course, master."

Oriya uncurls his legs and stretches them languidly. His eyes fall on a framed photograph standing on his dresser, of himself and Kazutaka, taken the day the latter graduated from medical college. A sad, wistful smile plays on his lips; he recollects how happy they had been then, before everything went terribly wrong…

He raises his arms and stretches again, taking care not to shift his head and interrupt Yoshida at his hairdressing task, aware of little kinks and pains in his body – a result of all the lovemaking sessions with Kazutaka in the days just past. A spark of arousal ignites in his loins, his face heats as he remembers every pleasure-filled moment locked in his lover's arms. When his recollections cause him to become completely aroused, he forces himself to consider what his servant has told him, to distract himself from a need to provide relief for the swelled organ nudging his lower belly.

_Bright violet eyes… no doubts as to who that one is… Glasses, long golden hair… yes, I remember that one… what could these Shinigami possibly want this time?_

Yoshida exchanges his comb for a brush and applies it vigorously to his master's tresses, brushing the long dark hair until it shines.

* * *

That night, the pair of Shinigami returns to Kokakuro. After a brief wait in the entrance hall, a beaming Yoshida greets them.

"Ah, good evening, gentlemen. It is a pleasure to see you both again. My master will be performing tonight, so please allow me to show you to the auditorium. After the show, I will inform him you wish to see him."

Tsuzuki and Watari take their seats at the only vacant table in the rear part of the room, which is already packed. Guests who are not seated at tables are sitting on flat cushions near the small stage. Jars of _sake_ are brought to their table, their cups swiftly filled.

Quietly stunned at learning that the master of the house will be performing, Watari drains his cup in one gulp.

_I wonder what kind of performance it will be. A play, perhaps?_

He glances around the filled auditorium and notes the air of excited expectancy rising from the audience, some of whom are glancing at their watches, a few ladies giggling coquettishly. His companion is blissfully occupied in sampling the various sweet delicacies on their table, his eyes glowing with childlike happiness as he swallows each mouthful.

When a hush descends upon the hall, both Shinigami turn their heads toward the stage and spot three figures stepping up onto the raised platform. Two women, one holding a _shamisen_, the other a _shakuhachi_, walk ahead of Oriya. The statuesque man folds himself gracefully at a _koto_ as the pair of women positions themselves on the stage floor on either side of him.

For the next half hour or so, the audience is mesmerized as they are treated to four songs sung by Oriya, the end of each song greeted by their thunderous applause and loud cheers.

Throughout the recital, Watari's eyes are fixed on the elegant figure, resplendent in his traditional robes in various shades of blue, the brocaded outer robe and his hair gleaming beneath the lanterns lighting the stage. His powerful voice, soaring and dipping, fills the room and casts its entrancing spell on the blond. The hapless Shinigami is gripped by a sweet ache, a tension born of the initial twinges of love.

Tsuzuki is thoroughly enjoying himself, delighting in the rendition of the songs by Oriya's wondrous voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices his colleague rapidly draining several cups of the warmed _sake_. Amusement is replaced by puzzlement – he has never known Watari to drink so much alcohol, let alone the fact that he never drinks while on a mission. He leans over to whisper discreetly in the blond's ear, "You'd better ease up on the _sake_. I don't particularly relish the thought of having to carry you out of here, my friend," grinning cheekily. Wide amber eyes meet Tsuzuki's; Watari's complexion, already heated by his deepening passion for Oriya, turns a livid shade of red. He averts his eyes, obviously embarrassed, making Tsuzuki wish he hadn't teased him.

By the end of the recital, Yutaka Watari is madly in love. His heart thudding wildly, he watches as Oriya rises to his feet and bows in acknowledgment of his audience's accolades, smiling warmly before he slips behind a curtained doorway beside the stage.

As the last members of the audience file out of the room, Yoshida appears once more to request that they follow him. They are led to a secluded garden situated away from the business area of the buildings, the very same one where Watari met Oriya for the first time the previous year. Yoshida halts and turns to address them.

"My master is waiting for you there, just up ahead," he says, his outstretched arm indicating a thicket of shrubbery, before leaving them in the warmly lit garden.

Following the meandering pathway, both men discern coiling wisps of smoke ascending in the cool night air behind the bushes and plants, their nostrils detecting a faint odor of tobacco and cloves. Rounding the last bend, they finally sight Kokakuro's master seated upon a bench next to a small table. At their approach, he removes his pipe from between his lips and stands, the silk of his garments rustling.

Tsuzuki, walking toward Oriya ahead of his partner, notes the cool composure of the dark-haired man, his placid face, the welcoming smile curling his lips beguilingly. Seeing him up close for the first time, Tsuzuki is struck by the overall beauty of the man, the attractive oval face with its perfectly symmetrical features.

"Good evening, guardians of death," greets Oriya. "Welcome to Kokakuro," he continues, addressing Tsuzuki. "I have not met you, but I believe your companion has been here before," the tall man tilts his head, shifting his gaze from Tsuzuki's face to Watari's. The blond Shinigami, half-hidden behind Tsuzuki, steps into full view.

"The circumstances of our last visit did not permit me to introduce myself," Oriya's smile widens, "I am Oriya." He does not offer his hand, but bows.

Watari, although completely disarmed by Oriya's charms, collects himself to respond, bowing in return. "I… I am Yutaka Watari… and… this… this is Asato Tsuzuki."

Tsuzuki bows at Watari's introduction, a little fazed by intense eyes sweeping over him when he straightens.

After his slow scrutiny of the dark-haired guardian of death, Oriya half-turns and invites the pair to sit, a long-fingered hand gesturing at the table. "Please seat yourselves. To what do I owe the honor of your visit, sirs?" he queries, seating himself.

Tsuzuki glances at Watari, who remains silent with his eyes downcast. Oriya, eyes darting their glance from one to the other expectantly, resumes puffing on his ornate pipe.

Tsuzuki clears his throat. "We would like to know if you have seen Muraki recently."

Calmly plucking the pipe from his mouth, Oriya replies, "Muraki? No, I have not," his mouth releasing wisps of inhaled smoke as he speaks.

Tsuzuki makes a study of Oriya's face for some seconds before proceeding. "I see. Do you happen to know of his whereabouts?"

Oriya's rejoinder is immediate and succinct. "No, I don't." His eyes remain fixed on Tsuzuki's as he places his pipe on the table while shifting his posture to lift a leg over his other. Moving his hand to his face, he begins stroking the contour of his lower lip with the nail of his thumb, his half-lidded eyes with their dark lashes shading the hazel glow of his irises, patiently waiting for the next question.

All this while, Watari has been stealing surreptitious glimpses at the man who has captured his heart, only when Oriya's gaze is not directed at him, his eyes lingering greedily, longingly, on the beautiful fair-skinned face, its complexion calling to Watari's mind the most exquisite, fragile and thinly-textured porcelain.

Something shiny on Oriya's hand moving hypnotically beneath his lips attracts his attention and Watari notices the platinum ring on the curled finger, its surface gleaming when it catches the light. It reminds him of Muraki's hair…

That thought snaps him out of his lovesick stupor, his mental faculties beginning to function at full potency again as he shifts into Shinigami-on-the-job mode.

"Your loyalty to Muraki and your reticence in disclosing his whereabouts are totally understandable, Oriya-sama, since you are his close friend. However," Watari continues, his tone soft and unthreatening, "it is crucial that we find him, for his own sake. We have," Watari pauses, arching an eyebrow, "reason to believe that he may be in danger." Watari's amber irises hold the hazel eyes that have locked on to them. Oriya's hand stills and drops to the table. A dark eyebrow lifts.

"In danger? What do you mean by that?"

Although Oriya articulated the question calmly, his tone low and even, both Shinigami discern the infinitesimal sparks of apprehension that has flared in Oriya's eyes. Watari derives no satisfaction at all in seeing this and is torn between his feelings for the man and by his objective of obtaining information on Dr Muraki's whereabouts.

Tsuzuki, seeing that Oriya is nibbling on the bait set out by Watari, takes over, leaning forward and looking at Oriya keenly.

"We are not at liberty to go into details, but let me say this: if you do care about him, you must tell us where he is. Apart from what my partner has said, there is also the fact that we do not wish to see your friend resume his… unwholesome activities."

In spite of Tsuzuki's gentle and tactful prod, it is obvious to Watari that his colleague has succeeded in hitting a nerve, for the pale hand on the table is now clenched. Protectiveness wells up within him and Watari fights his desire to reach for that hand, grasp it, and tell the man with downcast eyes: 'Tell me, tell me everything, trust me, I can help you…'

He looks over at Tsuzuki while both men wait out the silence, giving Oriya time to mull over his thoughts. When Tsuzuki seems to be on the verge of speaking again, Watari signals to him with a quick shake of his head and narrowed eyes to desist. The seconds tick away while both Shinigami exchange glances. Finally, Oriya tosses his head.

"I have told you, I do not know where he is." Regaining his composure, he rises smoothly to his feet. "And now gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to."

Tsuzuki clears his throat and stands. "Of course. We thank you for your time, Oriya-sama."

The combined effects of the _sake_ and the ordeal of having been in such close proximity with Oriya are beginning to take their toll on Watari and he rises a little unsteadily. He goes no further than a couple of steps away from the table before tripping on the uneven cobblestone ground. Losing his balance, his body pitches forward and in the next instant, he finds himself enclosed by a pair of firm arms. He looks up dazedly, expecting to see Tsuzuki's face but, to his horror, he discerns kohl-lined hazel eyes, the expression in them slightly amused. He is paralyzed at discovering that his body is pressed up against Oriya's, thigh against thigh, one of his hands clutching the silk at Oriya's waist, his other resting on the warm bare skin between the V of his robe, at a spot where Watari feels the swell of Oriya's pectorals. The fragrance of the scented oil on lustrous dark hair assails his nostrils. He sees smooth lips, silky pads of pale coral close enough to kiss…

A rush of intense desire boils over inside him and he pushes, jerking himself awkwardly out of that unexpected embrace as if he has been scalded, only to have those strong hands reach for him again, gripping his upper arms to steady him. Unable to raise his head, his eyes focus on a pair of white, sandaled feet as he hears Oriya's voice, tinged with genuine concern.

"Whoa there, are you okay?"

Watari lifts a hand to straighten the askew glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and then to his hair to brush back his unruly tresses from his hot face, the last action more a gesture to soothe his ruffled dignity. To his untold relief, Oriya's hands release him and he is able to reply feebly, "Yes, I'm fine, thank you."

His voice sounds horribly squeaky to his ears and he wants nothing more than to dissipate into invisible form, and escape from his humiliation to a place where he can be alone, curl up and fall into a deep sleep of oblivion. He is exhausted; his nerves have been on edge since sighting Kokakuro's master earlier in the day, his emotions caught on an unending, punishing roller coaster ride. Having not experienced them for so long, he is bewildered and uncomfortable - the pangs of falling in love feel alien to him, he who departed from the mortal world so long ago.

Avoiding both Oriya's and Tsuzuki's eyes, Watari bows hastily and bids Oriya good night, before turning and picking his footsteps carefully along the cobblestone path.

_End of part four _

_To be continued in Part Five,  
Chapter One: Hisoka Kurosaki: Unraveling the mystery of Muraki  
Chapter Two: Kazutaka Muraki: No way out – covenant with a demon_

* * *

_Author's notes:  
A **shamisen** is a 3-stringed lute. A **shakuhachi** is a flute, made of bamboo._

_In this installment, I may have placed particular emphasis on Oriya's looks. Yes, well, I may be biased because I love him, but I wanted to present him the way Watari sees him as he falls in love with him. Good excuse, ne? TGO  
_

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**_Love and darkness_**

_**Part Five**_

_**Chapter One**_

_**Hisoka Kurosaki and Seiichiro Tatsumi: Unraveling the mystery of Muraki**_

At the tapping sound, Konoe looks at the door of his office to see it swing open slowly, followed by a mop of chestnut hair and a pair of unusually large green eyes set in a youthful face poking through the gap tentatively.

"Ah, Kurosaki, come on in and have a seat." Konoe makes it a point to keep his tone light and kindly, whenever he can help it, while addressing the youngest member on his team of Shinigami. For some reason unknown to the Chief, he is always plagued by guilt after he has been strict with 'Bon.' The veteran of Ju Oh Cho smiles inwardly at the soubriquet given to the teenager by Watari, aware of the fact that Hisoka is secretly proud of the moniker – everyone at the Ministry of Hades now calls him that occasionally, making the lad feel like he is part of a large family in which he is the youngest.

Hisoka approaches Chief Konoe's large desk and sits on the chair beside the Secretary of The Ministry of Hades, who is flipping through a sheaf of papers. Tatsumi looks up at the young Shinigami, his expression of stern concentration replaced by a congenial one as he shoves the papers into a folder on Konoe's desk.

"Hi there, Hisoka, it's good to see you. Have you news from Tsuzuki and Watari?"

"Well, since they haven't been able to get Oriya to talk and they're convinced that he's not being truthful, they intend to place him under surveillance. They hope that sooner or later, he'll lead them to the doctor. As we speak, the operation has begun."

Konoe looks thoughtful. "How are they managing so far? Did they mention they needed back-up?" he asks while topping up all their cups with green tea.

"They did, in fact, if some personnel can be spared. They've got two entrances at Kokakuro to watch round-the-clock, and when I last spoke to them, I received the distinct impression that they were somewhat worn out. Apparently the subject in question is an extremely busy individual, constantly coming and going, zipping around and meeting loads of people all over the place – that's to be expected I suppose, being a businessman and all. At our last communication, they were in Tokyo at the airport waiting for Oriya's private plane to arrive – he's on his way to Tokyo."

"Hmm, I'll arrange for two more agents to work in shifts with them as soon as they get back from Tokyo. With any luck, he might just make contact with Muraki there. Anything else, Kurosaki?"

Hisoka hesitates before he responds. "Well, um, Tsuzuki mentioned they were running low… on, um… funds."

Tatsumi chuckles. "I'll have one of the Gushooshin twins meet them in Tokyo with more spending money. I do hope Tsuzuki-san will remember to keep the receipts," he finishes while tapping his chin with the tip of his pen.

Chief Konoe coughs. "Yes, well since Watari is with him, I don't think that will be a problem." He turns his head to glance at the clock on the wall. "If you two will excuse me, I'm running late for a meeting with the Count at the Hall of Candles. He has news from the Lord of Meifu, concerning that recent spiritual turbulence. I'll see you and update you both later."

* * *

Seiichiro Tatsumi strolls into the communal office of Konoe's team of Shinigami and spots the lone figure in the room – Hisoka at his desk. The young guardian is absorbed in his work, eyes trained on his monitor, his hand manipulating a mouse.

Striding up to the boy, Tatsumi greets him. "Hi Hisoka. Still working at this hour?"

"Uh, yeah, Tatsumi-san," Hisoka darts his green orbs to the Secretary's for a second before flicking them back to the screen in front of him.

"It's getting late. You really should get some rest, you know."

"I'm fine, Tatsumi-san."

"I see… hmm, if you don't mind me asking, what are you working on?"

"I'm doing research… on spells."

"Spells?" Tatsumi moves around Hisoka's desk to position himself behind the boy and notices the large volume of printed pages in disarray beside the keyboard. The Secretary's brow creases in a frown as he places a hand on Hisoka's shoulder. "Hisoka, is this in relation… forgive me, but does your research have anything to do with… the markings on your body?" Tatsumi asks in a hushed, gentle tone.

"No… not exactly… well partially, I suppose," replies Hisoka, pausing in his perusal of the data on his monitor to reach for his mug of tea.

Raising his eyebrows, Tatsumi prods mildly, "I'm afraid I don't understand… are you attempting to find a way to remove them, and therefore eradicating its residual power over you?"

"No, that's not the reason…" Hisoka pauses and sighs, his eyes focusing on Tatsumi's concerned face. "It's okay, Tatsumi. It doesn't bother me as much as it did in the past. Whether or not Muraki still has a hold over me through his curse doesn't really matter any more… I've come to realize that I have a family here… I'm not alone anymore… Tsuzuki, you, the Chief, everyone… you all care for me, and I feel safe… I can count on your protection…" Hisoka's low voice breaks on the last word, feeling overwhelmed by his emotions.

The Secretary smiles fondly, both of his hands reaching for Hisoka's shoulders and squeezing them with gentle pressure. "You are so very right there, Hisoka. We're always here for you, don't ever forget that, you are part of our family."

"Thank you, Tatsumi-san… coming back to what we were talking about… I'll explain. You see, I've been wondering about Muraki's powers, necromancy being one of them, his ability to work spells, to invoke demonic creatures, controlling them to act in accordance to his will. Don't you think it's strange that a mortal man possesses such powers?" The youth clicks with his mouse on a folder icon to open it, listing the spells and incantations used by Shinigami for their missions to summon souls that have gone astray to Meifu.

Pulling up a chair next to Hisoka, Tatsumi sits. "It is indeed. And, his powers are quite strong. I have been puzzling over these things as well." The Secretary removes his jacket. Slinging it over the back of his chair, he loosens his tie. "Although Tsuzuki and I were able to destroy those beasts he summoned during our skirmishes with him, it is a mystery as to how he came to have those powers…"

"Remember those barrier wires, 'special amulets from the netherworld, made from the hair of women', according to Muraki?" Hisoka interjects urgently.

"The ones he bound you with in Nagasaki?"

"Yes. After that incident, I began to wonder how he came to have them," continues Hisoka, wincing slightly at the memory of being held fast by those deceptively flimsy threads. "How did he acquire them? At that time, I doubted that he has the ability to transcend physically from the mortal world into the spirit realm, but, as we all came to realize, he does in fact have that ability – he materialized right here in Meifu to seize Tsuzuki, right out from under Suzaku's nose! And hence it was explained how he knew such a great deal about what goes on here, his knowledge of spells, he seemed to have heard of you as well, Tatsumi-san. Why, the fact that he can enter Meifu is in itself the greatest mystery… no mortal can, unless circumstances warrant it absolutely necessary, and then only if the Lord of Meifu personally sanctions it."

"Yes, I agree it is quite baffling indeed…"

"Is it possible that he is himself… an immortal?"

Tatsumi shakes his head slowly, staring at a point in the distance. "I'm not sure, it could be possible… but whether he is or not, the fact remains that he is a very real threat to the work we do here. His constant interference in our affairs has been most detrimental and the Lord of Meifu himself has expressed his concern."

"He has? Whoa, awesome! Tatsumi-san, do you remember that glowing pentagram that trapped Tsuzuki-san when Maria Wong attacked him? Well, in relation to that, I've been studying all the spells and incantations we use to see if there are any among them that resemble the one that Muraki used."

"Have you found anything?"

"No, I haven't," the boy replies, his sigh tinged with frustration. "I can therefore deduce that it is not one of our spells. For us, a pentagram spell normally contains the name of the deity who is releasing his, her or its power for the spell to work. Unfortunately, when I saw it in that church, my main objective was to destroy it immediately and thus did not have time to make out any details. I remember I saw symbols and words written in strange lettering, but I cannot recall them clearly."

Tatsumi picks up a penciled drawing on the top of the stack of tumbled papers and studies it. "Hmm… this is what it looked like, right?"

"Yes. A star within a circle, and five smaller circles at the five points."

After some moments staring off into space, Tatsumi's face becomes animated. "I have an idea… I wonder if it would be possible… Hisoka, at Ju Oh Cho's Psychic Institute, there is a professor on staff there whose expertise is in the field of hypnosis. If you were to be placed under hypnosis, there is a possibility that you may be able to recall further details of the pentagram. How about it, would you be willing to try it?"

Shrugging, Hisoka replies, "I don't see why not."

"Good. I'll clear it with the Chief first and then make an appointment for you to see Professor Kawamura."

* * *

Hisoka's eyes snap open. He blinks them a few times, gradually becoming aware of the face looming close to his, its kindly brown eyes searching his face.

Professor Kawamura smiles. "Hisoka-san, how do you feel?"

The young Shinigami draws in breath deeply. His session with the hypnosis specialist has been a harrowing one. Drawn deep into his mind to seek out the memories by the process, it was inevitable that he experienced fear and panic when he encountered the man who murdered him in the realm of his subconscious. The professor, an exceptionally skilled hypnotist, kept reassuring a worried Tatsumi, stating that she knew what she was doing, and that she would ensure that Hisoka suffered no emotional damage after he awoke from the procedure.

Tatsumi hovers beside the couch on which Hisoka is now sitting, as Kawamura hands the youth a glass of water. Before he takes a sip, he manages a weak smile, and replies that he is all right. "It just felt… so real… I'm really glad it's over. I don't think I ever want to go through that again," he murmurs, reassuring Tatsumi with a quick grin that he is none the worse for wear.

The professor hands Hisoka a notepad and pen, instructing him to write down the things that he specifically wanted to remember, while the memories were still fresh in his mind. Looking at Tatsumi, she adds, "Let me know if you wish to view the tape of the session, although I don't think that will be necessary. I do believe that you have managed to recall some of the details of the pentagram. I suggest you start making a note of them now. Here, you may sit at this desk."

Tatsumi watches over Hisoka's shoulder while the boy quickly sketches a rough drawing of the pentagram and inserts the symbols and words he has managed to remember. "There, that was all I could see during the hypnosis. I'm not sure it will help, but… Tatsumi, do you understand any of it? These words are of a language I've never seen before."

"Nor have I…"

Professor Kawamura, seated at her desk, stops typing on her keyboard and looks over at the pair. "I'm sure someone over at Linguistics may be able to help, Seiichiro."

Hisoka is a little surprised by the expression on Tatsumi's face. It makes the secretary appear years younger; the sentiments behind it are a blend of affection, mischief and entreaty. As the boy watches Tatsumi's smile broaden and sees Kawamura affect a stance of mock longsuffering, snorting while she shakes her head, he deduces that the professor and the secretary are definitely old acquaintances.

"All right, all right, I'll call in some markers." Sighing as she picks up her tiny red cell phone, she jabs the index finger of her other hand in Tatsumi's direction. "That's three you owe me now, Seiichi!"

Tatsumi approaches her desk to bow in mock subservience. "Hai hai, Miyoko!"

* * *

Later, over an evening meal, the two Shinigami discuss the words Hisoka recalled during his hypnosis, deciphered by one of Professor Kawamura's friends.

"The lord of eternal darkness… the nameless one…" repeats Tatsumi, looking off into the distance, keeping his face unreadable. Unknown to Hisoka, the Secretary's heart has begun to beat a little faster.

"Have you heard of this 'lord', this 'nameless one', Tatsumi?"

After a stretch of silence, Tatsumi turns his eyes back to the youth's face. "I have heard of him… not a lot, but, yes, I have heard a few things about this demon," he answers, maintaining a nonchalant tone of voice.

* * *

**_Chapter Two_**

**_ Kazutaka Muraki: No way out – covenant with a demon_**

In the house on the hill, Kazutaka Muraki lies on a bed, asleep. His jaw is slack, his lips parted. Presently, from out of his mouth, ribbons of black mist seep, gradually gathering together to form a dark cloud. This cloud of mist is approximately the size of the sleeping form on the bed. As it hovers above Muraki, six pairs of red, fiery eyes positioned in the swirling mass turn their gaze toward the prone figure.

It begins to speak, in a rasping, masculine voice that pierces the subconscious part of Muraki's brain.

**"****My arrival was timely indeed. How totally unexpected it was to find you in that state… remembering parts of your life I thought I had completely erased. What was it that countered my spell? Could Oriya have caused it? That one seems to have a hold over you, my beautiful one. His love for you has a power to reach the buried part of you – your true self. Even after I took possession of your body, his devotion to you, fortified by his prayers, was fighting against me."**

The entity composed of mist pauses to laugh, its ringing and gleeful laughter echoes through the room and Kazutaka shifts, his body squirming, his head flailing restlessly. His body stills when the demon begins speaking again.

**"****Sanae, huh, some protector goddess you are! You are no match against me! But… that Oriya – his love for you is a power in itself. But no matter, my little ruse of making him believe that you have returned to him will stop that power for now. I cannot have him pining for you and drawing you away from me. You are my chosen one, after all. What were you thinking, that you could break your covenant with me? You foolish mortals, with all your misguided notions of love! Love is such a fleeting thing; it never lasts, unlike hate. Hate endures and grows into an unstoppable power. Hate is delightful! Yes, hate is what drew me to you, ah, my Kazutaka! You were so full of hate, your hate made you beautiful and glorious to my eyes."**

Numerous arms ending in claw-like hands take shape at the edges of the dark cloud and begin to reach for Kazutaka, moving over him, caressing his body from head to toe.

**"****Do you remember, beautiful one? How you wept and raged, implored the heavens in your grief? But no one in heaven answered you did they? It was I, I who heard you and came to you. It was I who comforted you, and gave you the means, the powers to exact your revenge. And, have you forgotten? In return, you promised to relinquish your soul to me. Tsk, tsk, it was a pity indeed that your grand scheme of revenge against that half-brother of yours came to nothing in the end… I gave you all the tools and support you needed in that endeavor of yours. Ah, well, you got more than you bargained for when that hybrid, that Shinigami called Tsuzuki, foiled your plan.**

**"****Hah! But, what do I find when I come to claim what is mine? You – foolishly beginning to love this Oriya again! How annoying! He is fortunate that I stopped myself from destroying him then and there! Ah, well, he might just prove useful to me in the future, and… his appearance is rather pleasing as well. Yes, he is, how shall I put it… truly satisfying in every sense of the word!" **

Lusting for intimacy with a mortal once more, the apparition of mist recalls the pleasure it experienced from within Kazutaka's body. After it had taken possession of his body and utilized it to copulate several times with Oriya, the demon, who does not possess a solid alternate form, was able to feel each and every exquisite sensation of sexual arousal, penetration and orgasm through his host's body. The entity laughs raucously, lewdly. The sound creates sonic waves that rattle the objects and furniture in the bedroom, the demon's consuming urge of enjoying Oriya's body again causing the vaporous mass that constitutes its form to become denser. It expresses his lust with deep, feral growling.

**"****Where has he gone anyway? I lust for him! Hmm, I may just court him as well, what do you think, my beloved? Do you think he would like to become one of my lieutenants?"**

Kazutaka tosses violently in the bed and slurs, "No… please… not Oriya…"

**"****Whaaat?" **thunders the demon, silencing Kazutaka's entreaties.

The entity hisses ferociously.

**"****And why not? Why shouldn't I have him as well? You would dare tell me what to do? You ungrateful wretch, I've a mind to kill him now as punishment for your ingratitude and apathy! You disgust me in this state, you…"**

Kazutaka whimpers, tossing his head from side to side. "No… please… I will keep my part of the bargain," he whispers, tears streaming from his closed eye. "My soul is yours, but please… don't harm him…" He sobs in his misery at his realization of the stark, awful sense of finality of the corollary of the pact he had struck with the demon hovering above him, his deal with the demon made seventeen years ago.

The demon seethes, enraged by Kazutaka's obvious love for Oriya. Claws of mist grip Kazutaka's body and through them, it delivers bolts of its power into it, the equivalent of a severe lashing by several whips striking his body simultaneously. Kazutaka cries out in pain, screaming until he can scream no more, bearing the searing agony silently, although he can do nothing to still the contortions of his body as it reacts without volition to the pain. He lies there, convulsing upon the bed, beyond the point of caring what will further befall him…

_I deserve this. I chose this fate. I would not listen to you, Oriya. If only I had… If only I had chosen to turn away from my anger_ _and forgiven those who had hurt and wronged me… How good and peaceful it felt, when I listened to you singing… I could have had it all – a life brimming with happiness and love… Ah! It is too late now, too late…_

The demon ceases its raging and withdraws, all of its eyes narrowing venomously. It has heard all of Kazutaka's thoughts. Now, it gathers its misty form tightly, spinning like a tornado as it works a spell to calm the piteous, weeping figure on the bed.

_**I know just what you need, Kazutaka Muraki. You need to relive every moment, yes, every single pain-filled moment that caused you to rage, and hate. I want to hear it again – that enthralling sound that issued from your throat as you roared with your hate…**_

The entity reaches with one of its hands and clamps it over Kazutaka's skull. As the wretched doctor succumbs to the demon's spell, he moans, sobs and screams until the demon hears what it has been waiting for - his final, horrendous roar. When it dies away, so do the last, lingering vestiges of Kazutaka Muraki's true self.

**"****Yes, there, there now… you are perfect again, beautiful again, all for me. I'll take care of you now, and forever. Listen well, my precious chosen one, this is what I want you to do…"**

_End of Part Five_

_To be continued in Part Six: Asato Tsuzuki: Reluctant reminiscences of a monster_


	6. Chapter 6

To all my reviewers: Thank you for posting your reviews, which have greatly encouraged me to continue writing. 

To Sueona – a special thank-you for being my first reviewer.

**This part is strictly for mature readers only.**

* * *

**_Love and darkness_**

**_ Part Six_**

**_ Asato Tsuzuki: Reluctant reminiscences of a monster_**

Asato Tsuzuki stifles a yawn and stretches to ease tense muscles. He and Watari are still pursuing Oriya, trailing the man on a seemingly endless chase all over Tokyo. Their quarry is currently dining in an exclusive restaurant with several men, shady-looking characters, Tsuzuki decides, dressed in dark suits and accompanied by brawny men wearing dark glasses.

The Shinigami is restless, his tension mounting as the days pass with no sighting of Muraki. Secretly though, he is glad and relieved that the man has not appeared because he is totally unprepared as yet for an encounter with Dr Kazutaka Muraki.

_The man always manages to get under my skin… It's bad enough having him appear in my dreams!_

During their surveillance, passing the time while they wait for Oriya to be on the move again has proved to be nerve-wracking for Tsuzuki; the prospect of having his old foe appear before him at any moment has set his teeth on edge, his anxiety heightening with each new day. He casts a baleful glance at his partner, envious of his ability to remain perfectly still for long periods of time. The blond has taken to wearing dark shades clipped to his glasses during the day. Tsuzuki watches him, wondering if Watari is shielding his eyes from him, rather than from the glare of sunlight.

Once they began trailing Oriya, Tsuzuki had set himself a task: to discover the reason for Watari's sudden transformation from a chatty, effervescent individual into an unnervingly quiet one. It didn't take him long. Two nights after they spoke to Oriya at Kokakuro, they followed him to a manor situated in the outskirts of Kyoto, the home of a politician, where a party was taking place. It seemed promising to both Shinigami that Dr Muraki might make an appearance. But, as it turned out, he did not. It was during this event that Tsuzuki stumbled upon the answer he was looking for…

_Invisible to everyone else but each other, Tsuzuki had gone in search of his partner after returning from the garden where he had made a quick call to Hisoka. He found him, noticing immediately that something was amiss as he spotted Watari, face sullen, standing close to a balcony door left ajar. As Tsuzuki approached him, he heard a low murmur of voices coming from the balcony beyond - Oriya's, tinged with displeasure, and another man's, pressing, imploring and breathy…_

"_Don't… please, Hideo!"_

"_But why? Oriya, I love you! I've wanted you for so long…"_

_(A passionate groan, followed by scuffling noises)_

"_Don't do that, I've already told you…"_

"_Please, let me kiss you, Oriya…"_

_(A snarl, more scuffling, and scraping of shoes on floor)_

"_Hideo! Please stop! You've had too much too drink…"_

"_Why are you doing this to me? You enjoy this, do you, torturing me like this?"_

"_I'm not torturing you! Can't you accept the fact that I just don't feel the same way about you?!"_

_The two Shinigami heard a high-pitched keening, followed by muffled sobs and quick footsteps. Oriya came bursting through the doorway, looking irritated. He halted, turned to look out through the doorway and listened to the broken weeping of the man out on the balcony with his jaw tensed. As he stood between the pair of invisible Shinigami, his face just inches away from and turned towards Watari, Tsuzuki saw the skin on his colleague's face reddening, his chest heaving with his rapid breathing. _

_And there, in Watari's eyes, lay his answer. When Oriya strode away, his hair somewhat disheveled from the scuffle, and groping of his ardent admirer, Watari's eyes met Tsuzuki's before they lowered their glance to the floor…_

Having heard the whispered tales back in Meifu, he fervently hopes he is wrong in his assumption, since a love affair between an immortal and a mortal can be disastrous and heartbreaking, for several reasons: disastrous, because a hybrid child might be conceived, in the case of a heterosexual relationship; heartbreaking, because the immortal will have to watch his or her mortal lover age and, eventually pass away. Furthermore, the outcome of the judgment process does not guarantee that the soul of the departed lover will be reunited with his or her immortal paramour. One particular tragic story continues to circulate in the netherworld, told countless of times over, so much so Tsuzuki doubts the authenticity of the tale, certain that the endless repeating of it has added untruths and omitted truths. The Shinigami smirks, remembering Konoe's tongue-in-cheek remark about certain elders who employ the tearjerking, ancient and timeworn tale of Umeko and Yuu as a deterrent to spirit/mortal relationships and unions.

He sighs, yawns again, before shifting his position on the bench, studying his colleague discreetly as the golden-haired Shinigami reaches for something inside his jacket pocket. Tsuzuki recognizes his own dog-eared paperback, which his partner opens to a marked page and begins reading to occupy himself. While looking at the familiar profile he has grown so accustomed to and fond of, he feels twinges of apprehension and sympathy for him; again, he hopes that the man who has become more than just a colleague to him, someone he is happy to have as a friend, will not suffer any heartbreak over his feelings for Oriya.

_You've got it really bad for him, old friend. Can't say I blame you though… he certainly is one hell of an eye-pleaser. On the one hand, I wish you well, and want so much to tell you to go for it, but on the other, I just don't want to see you get hurt… He just might not feel the same way about you… Something in his eyes that night, when we told him Muraki might be in danger – that's what you see in a lover's eyes, not a friend's…_

_A lover… HIS lover… _

Unbidden, an image forms in Tsuzuki's mind: of Muraki, his mouth on Oriya's, his hands opening silk robes, pulling them off, caressing Oriya's white skin. Repulsed by it, he stands to his feet, brushing the erotic vision away. To distract himself, he pulls out some candy from his pocket and crams the sweets into his mouth, but the scenes of Muraki's sexual overtures with Oriya continue to flash in his inner vision. Mentally snorting, he wonders if that monster harbors any feelings at all for Oriya, or whether the latter is simply just another sex toy to him. Regardless of his rising anger, he is still conjuring images of Muraki and Oriya, both naked now, and stimulating each other orally, until Tsuzuki finally comes clean and faces the cause of his revulsion and anger: jealousy. Instinctively replacing Oriya with himself in his imaginings, the organ of his sex instantly hardens. His body's reaction infuses him with an old shame, an old self-loathing, as unwanted memories – memories of his encounters with Dr Kazutaka Muraki creep insidiously into his mind.

With so much time to kill during his assignment, Tsuzuki has been plagued by conflicting emotions with regards to Muraki. He remembers the dismay and anger he felt when the truth of what Muraki really was had been revealed when he had been assigned to the Maria Wong case. Guilt had assailed him then, because he had been intensely attracted to Muraki upon his very first meeting with him in that Nagasaki church.

His heart had turned at seeing the tears on that beautiful face, a face of an angel, stamped with deep sorrow. His initial attraction had been augmented by the striking doctor's warm hand on his, squeezing before withdrawing it, filling Tsuzuki with an ache, a desire to get to know him better.

What a cruel revelation it had been for him – to learn that such a seemingly fine man he had actually wanted to comfort, kiss, fall in love with, and make love to, had turned out to be a monster, a perverted predator.

And yet, Muraki's words to him on that cruise ship, taunting him about his self-righteous crusade against acts of killing, had cut him through to his core.

_I was a killer, just like him. As a mortal, I murdered people… just like him… No!_

_I'm not like him! I… I felt and still feel remorse for what I had done, I turned away from my dark self… I strove to become good… I'm not like him… He was toying with me, trying to make me believe I am like him, condemned to hate and kill, unworthy of being forgiven. But even now, I still feel there will be no true redemption for me. No amount of remorse will ever erase my guilt… maybe I am like him, maybe that's why I'm so drawn to him._

_After I lost that card game to him, when his mouth was on my skin, the tears welled in my eyes, not because I couldn't bear his touch, but because… I loved it! I cried because of the disgust I felt for myself, for wanting him. Oh, how I had wanted him!_

_And he knew it… how could he not have known, when my desire for him was revealed by my hardness against his thigh… Hisoka's intervention saved me from myself._

Tsuzuki shuts his eyes and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. An incongruous mixture of shame and desire warms his skin and sends tremors through his body as his mind is pulled back inexorably into the memory of the sexual interlude between him and Muraki in that vault of horror…

_**Flashback begins**_

In spite of having regressed into a numb state of acquiescence to whatever Muraki has planned for him, and longing for eternal death, his eyes roam slowly over the chilly interior of the chamber – a fitting place for his tomb, he decides. He is being carried in the arms of his captor, the demented surgeon in white, his ghostly garments concealing a body that houses a soul blackened with his dark desires.

Muraki lowers and lays him down carefully on an examination couch before striding over to a structure of steel and glass, the tubes surrounding it resembling giant leeches. His eyes watch Muraki, still before the tank, like a devotee before a shrine. The apathetic Shinigami squints at the suspended object behind the glass and wonders how Hisoka's head has come to be there.

A fleeting moment of panic grips him. Lucid thought returns to him. He stares at the broad, powerfully built back of the man before the glass capsule and tries to pull himself together, to devise a plan to overpower the maniac and bring him down. He surmises that if he invokes his protector deities, Muraki would simply draw the battle out with his own conjured demonic beasts. _No, that wouldn't do_. He reconsiders. Perhaps if he called upon his own rage lying dormant within him, he could gather it into strength to throttle the man and wring the life force out of him with his own bare hands…

Muraki spins on his heels briskly to fix him with a leering gaze, chuckling wickedly while approaching him. The doctor reaches for Tsuzuki's face, cupping his cheeks with his hands.

"Oh, you are delightful, Tsuzuki-san, your anger is exquisite! So, you would like to kill me with your bare hands? Would you like to try?"

Tsuzuki blinks in surprise. _What? The fiend can read my thoughts?_

A wet tongue flicks out to moisten the smiling lips above him. Tsuzuki observes it with fascination as the tongue retreats into Muraki's mouth, his lips stretching and parting to reveal glistening white teeth.

"Why are you silent, Tsuzuki-san?" Muraki's taunting drawl penetrates the Shinigami's hearing, his momentary flare of lucid thought dying away, becoming lost in the fog of regression.

"Come on, fight me, my beautiful Shinigami! You will arouse me to no end and your struggling will serve as foreplay."

Tsuzuki hears the all-too familiar throaty chuckle lilting as he gazes into a twinkling silver eye.

At Tsuzuki's silence, Muraki's chuckling swells to laughter. "No? Perhaps that is a wise choice. We'll only waste precious time and even more precious energy, energy that will be better expended in other pursuits," he drawls, before crushing Tsuzuki's lips with his mouth, forcing them apart with his spit-slicked tongue.

The kiss is Tsuzuki's undoing – the sheer strength driving it smashes through his torpor, awakening a raw, primal need in him and he yields his mouth to the hunger of Muraki's for some moments before commencing an assault of his own. His tongue pushes back the fevered one, plunging his own into the mouth of the monster as far as it will go, his fingers gripping, pulling locks of white and silver hair, moaning loudly.

Tsuzuki's aggression heightens, his hands sliding from hair to hard back to draw Muraki's upper body closer to him. Uncaring of his predicament and the possibility of his impending death at Muraki's hands, he concentrates on the pleasure coursing through him and the need of his body.

The doctor seems to grow wild at Tsuzuki's willingness and groans, takes control again, bruising the Shinigami's lips with the press of his teeth. The ravening mouth finally separates from his captive's. Tsuzuki finds a silver eye and that odd, glassy blue one, partially hidden by uneven silver bangs, looking deep into his eyes. Muraki is panting, his breath gusting on Tsuzuki's face. The natural eye gleams above him, the emotions conveyed in it fascinating the Shinigami once more, transforming as he stares into it – from amusement to wonderment, to awe, and finally, to predatory lust. Muraki's fingers caress the side of Tsuzuki's neck, the thumb stroking his Adam's apple.

He waits, expecting the doctor to begin taunting him. But he does not. Instead, he begins undressing him with steady hands, swiftly and methodically, nostrils flaring with sexual tension, a tic pulsing on his left jaw.

The nippy air of the underground vault plays over Tsuzuki's bared skin, making the tiny hairs on it rise. He shivers, not from the cold but from mounting excitement. With the same speed he employed in divesting Tsuzuki of his clothes, Muraki commences to strip.

The Shinigami, sprawled on the table, looks on as a very pale chest, free of hair, is revealed to him. He gazes at rosy nipples and then at fair curling hair below a navel. Snugly fitting white briefs are lowered quickly, displaying an erect penis. The heavy organ sways above a dusky pink scrotal sac as the doctor moves closer to him.

Curling a hand around Tsuzuki's engorged organ, Muraki lowers his head and clamps his mouth over the glans, swirling his tongue around it to lick away the clear drops that have leaked from it while his other hand cups and fondles his taut sac.

Tsuzuki cries out, writhing from the exquisite sensations, gasping when his whole length is drawn into Muraki's mouth; his hips begin to move rhythmically with the doctor's strokes, his cock sliding in and out of the wet warmth.

Just when he feels a sweet pressure beginning to build, Muraki releases him to select a bottle of clear liquid from a trolley next to the couch. The sight of the pale hand applying the lubricating jelly with quick strokes on the cock, of generous girth and length, fills the Shinigami with savage lust. A mental image of it penetrating his body leads him to a point of no return, a state where his body screams for one thing only, where neither rational thought nor a sense of morality exist in his psyche.

His calves are grabbed and yanked, positioning his buttocks near the edge of the padded table. Voluntarily lifting his legs to offer himself to Muraki, he closes his eyes as hands grip the backs of his knees. All at once, the slicked shaft is sliding into him and both men gasp at the same time. He forces himself to open his eyes to look at the doctor and sees his head thrown back, mouth open, absorbed by the pleasure of the first sensations of being enclosed in Tsuzuki's heat.

Muraki begins his movements, plunging and withdrawing, slowly at first, then faster, strangled grunts emitting from his throat, wild lust in the eye now pinned on the Shinigami's half-closed eyes.

No tender expressions of love are exchanged between them as they copulate to the humming of power generators and the wet, slurping sounds of sex. Turning his head, Tsuzuki's eyes come to rest on the only witness to their frenzied coupling – the disembodied head he believes to be Hisoka's, its brown locks of hair moving like the snakes on Medusa's head, the eyelids lifting and lowering hypnotically, in rhythm with the Shinigami's masturbating hand, the blue-green irises watching them impassively.

Strangely, the sight does not affect him; the waves of pleasure rippling from his groin, washing upwards through his belly and down into his legs, take precedence over everything else, the urges of his body taking on a life of its own – a lusting monster he has no control over.

Muraki's assault has located Tsuzuki's secret place of ultimate pleasure. It does not take long before the Shinigami howls, pearly beads spurting over his belly. Suffused in post-climax bliss, he watches Muraki straining to attain release, his eye unfocused, face flushed. Reaching the threshold of orgasm, the doctor vents a guttural groan, stops his thrusting and the Shinigami feels the pulsing of the cock inside him as it spews ejaculate.

After the softening organ slips out of him, Muraki leans forward, freeing the Shinigami's legs. Tsuzuki feels the tickle of hair on his belly, a tongue on him again, licking up his spattered semen, and then his flaccid penis being scooped up by a hand and licked as well.

Dimly aware of Muraki moving away from him, he seeks out the bodiless head again and whispers, "Do you despise me, Hisoka? You should, because I am a vile thing… I've been fucking the man who raped and killed you once before… and now he has killed you again and put your head in there like a trophy."

Eyelids close over amethyst jewels bright with tears, and as more sorrow tracks down his cheeks, Tsuzuki sobs. "I am so sorry, Hisoka… before I cease to exist, I swear I will avenge you…"

The hands tenderly washing him are as gentle as a lover's…

The soporific, whispering voice, like a lover's wooing, praising his beauty, lulling him…

His vow to Hisoka, filling him with newfound strength and determination…

Rising, and taking hold of the knife…

_I'll put an end to the darkness now… end the lives of two monsters now…_

Hearing the sickening sound of the knife plunging into Muraki's body…

Staring at the blood gushing from the monster's wound, darkening the monster's white garments…

_**Flashback ends**_

_End of part six_

_To be continued_

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_As much as I wanted to plunge Tsuzuki and Muraki headlong into a romance, it is difficult to do this, considering the canon circumstances: Tsuzuki's animosity towards Muraki, and the latter's twisted personality. To have these two falling in love, before the Shinigami gains insight into what drives Muraki and what befell him, seems a bit unrealistic._

_Medusa the Gorgon is a Greek mythological figure. Originally beautiful, she was wrongfully punished by Athena who turned her into a fearsome monster after being raped by Poseidon in her temple. The loveliest aspect of Medusa was said to be her hair, which was transformed into snakes._


	7. Chapter 7

_A big HELLO to all my readers! Thanks to all of you for your reviews. The fact that you all took the time to read and post your reviews inspired me to keep writing; once again, my sincere thanks to all of you! The run-up to the festive season holidays was hectic for me, but I did squeeze in some writing time and managed to complete this part. I hope you will enjoy it. Please be warned though, this part has some gritty and hard-boiled bits – TGO_

* * *

**_ Part Seven _**

**_Oriya: A full circle of sorrow_**

Summoned back to Shinigami headquarters to attend a briefing, Tsuzuki and Watari almost collide with Hisoka and Tatsumi, while turning a corner in a hallway located in the bowels of the huge complex, which is the flagship office of the Ministry of Hades.

"Hello there, you two!" chimes Tsuzuki.

"Hey, good to see you both," the secretary responds. "Sorry to have called you back on such short notice, but Chief Konoe felt it was necessary. So, Abe and Shin are keeping an eye on Oriya?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Being trainees, it's good for them to gain more field experience."

"So, what's this meeting about, Tatsumi?" enquires Tsuzuki, playfully ruffling Hisoka's hair and earning an exasperated glance from the young Shinigami. "Is it concerning what Hisoka told us about – the pentagram and a lord of darkness? By the way, good work, Hisoka!" Tsuzuki flashes a grin at his official partner.

"Yes, plus a few other details," replies Tatsumi. "Shall we proceed to the boardroom, everyone? We don't want to keep the Chief waiting."

Shuffling into the room, the four of them find a grim-faced Konoe, already seated with his arms folded across his chest, and quickly seat themselves.

Konoe closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts before he begins addressing them.

"First off, I'll fill you in on what we've learned concerning the disturbance in the spirit realm.

"On the night in question, Sanae, a protector goddess, was invoked. She identified the devotee who called for her aid as none other than Oriya. According to Sanae, he has been her believer since he was very young."

Tsuzuki quirks an eyebrow and Watari's eyes widen…

* * *

Upon his arrival at the house where Kazutaka was waiting for him, Oriya was immediately pounced upon, lifted off his feet and carried through woodlands nearby, then to a grassy clearing close to an outcrop, set over a ravine of a waterfall. The speed with which Kazutaka moved seemed inhuman to him, and Oriya's heart raced, partly with the exhilaration of arousal, and partly… to trepidation… 

While he was away seeing to his business affairs, Oriya had been troubled. The time apart from Kazutaka gave him an opportunity to stop for breath, work through his confusion and look at things from a different perspective.

After the two Shinigami called on him, delivering their warning of the possibility of Kazutaka being in danger, the memory of the occurrences on the veranda – the mysterious mist that had snared Kazutaka that night – had returned to plague him. As those images clicked in his head, he turned over and questioned certain facts: Kazutaka's miraculous healing, the wounds on his body disappearing without a trace… His superhuman strength, the ominous gleam in his eye as he pronounced words of love to him… His frightening, insatiable sexual appetite, although flattering and arousing to Oriya at the time…

All these facts began to gnaw at his newfound joy, filling him with a sense of foreboding. However, his disquiet had been allayed by Kazutaka's voice on his cell phone, seductive and desirable, requesting to see him.

After the pollution of the cities, the air of the mountains smelled fresh, moist and overflowing with verdure to Oriya as he was placed on the ground. As his lips were claimed, his body was slowly laid bare. As Kazutaka's mouth moved along the skin of his neck, murmuring tributes and affection, Oriya arched his back at the pleasing touch and words of his lover and turned his face. His eyes lingered on the magnificent sight of white sprays, plunging over the precipice of the falls, their cries of want drowned by the thunderous sound of rushing, wild water. His sight moved to azure sky, painted here and there with white cotton candy clouds, behind the damp, trailing and swaying branches of willows with their delicate leaves of pale green. He tangled his fingers in Kazutaka's white locks when his nipples were nipped and sucked. His unease melted away into oblivion as he sighed in gratitude, awash with the deep bliss only a lover feels, euphoric at the thought that, at last, the one he had given his heart to when he was still a boy, loved him in return…

* * *

After taking a sip of tea, Konoe continues. "Sanae telepathically transmitted her powers to Oriya, and found herself engaging an entity in a spiritual battle. She has fought this demon before, but on this occasion, she realized its power had increased tremendously. Summoning the aid of her sister, Hoshi, the both of them attempted to vanquish the demon, but they were forced to withdraw, as she sensed the weakening of her host – Oriya. To continue would have resulted in serious injury to him or worse – death." 

Tsuzuki darts his eyes to Watari and registers the alarm in the blond's blood-drained face.

"The vast amount of spirit energy released during the fight caused the rocking in the spirit world…"

Watari, his voice tense and urgent, asks, "Who is this entity Sanae and Hoshi fought against?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Konoe replies, "It is referred to as 'the nameless one', or 'the lord of eternal darkness', and also, 'the ruler of the lost souls'. Its origins are obscure, and we are not certain of its gender or what it looks like. We'll use the pronoun 'he' for convenience."

* * *

Moving to sit up and pushing his lover down onto his back, Oriya reaches for the hard, pink column of flesh reclining against pale curling wisps on Kazutaka's lower belly. As he gently caresses the organ, his lips and tongue seek out the fluff that grows more abundantly closer to the juncture of his lover's thighs, surrounding the base of the shaft he fondles, flanking the damp skin of his substantial ball sac. He licks the flaxen pubic hair all the way down to where it meets the edge of the entrance between his lover's buttocks. 

He stops his licking, repressing his urge to caress the pucker of flesh there with his lips and tongue, fearful of a rebuke from Kazutaka. He slides his tongue back to lick the velvety skin of the sac and draws it slowly into his mouth, sighing and salivating, relishing the taste of his lover's genitalia.

To his surprise, Kazutaka snarls, and Oriya looks up to see his lover sitting up. Growling thickly, Kazutaka throws his legs wide apart, plants his feet on the ground and lifts his hips. He moves his hand to indicate his entrance, now fully displayed. He rasps, "Fuck me now, Oriya!"

Oriya is stunned as he stares at Kazutaka's face, the contortions on it frightening him.

Never before had Oriya been allowed to penetrate, or touch, his most intimate spot, during the short time he and Kazutaka had been lovers, before Kazutaka began to change. Oriya had accepted this rule, never questioning it. Years after they ceased to be intimate with one another, Oriya found out the reason for Kazutaka's aversion…

_His tongue loosened by alcohol during a visit to Kokakuro, Kazutaka began relating, with considerable exuberance, an incident to Oriya, about how he had chanced upon a youth…_

"_It was Saki, I tell you, Saki, reincarnated!" yells a less-than-sober Kazutaka, before breaking into fits of hysterical laughter, pounding his fist on the table with gusto._

_A sad Oriya tries to calm his friend, softly telling him, "I'm sure it wasn't him, Kazu. Saki is burning in hell, I guarantee it. There's no way he could have been reincarnated."_

_Kazutaka breaks off laughing to squint suspiciously at his friend._

"_Eh? No, no… knowing that bastard, he just might have duped whoever is in charge of afterlife punishhh… punishment, and somehow found a way to… to come back… and, and haunt me! It was Saki, I tell you… heh, his eyes were different, though… bigger… and green, not turquoise… whatever! It was Saki, in the flesh, come back to haunt me! Well, no matter," Kazutaka pauses to sniff disdainfully and wave a flippant hand, "I dealt with him, good and proper." Pleased with himself and with the manner of one hiding a wonderful secret, he smirks conspiratorially, his smile breaking into a wide grin as he looks at Oriya with his cup raised in the gesture of a toast. He pours the sake down his throat before smacking his lips and sloshing more of the rice liquor into his cup._

_Alarmed, Oriya stiffens. "Kazutaka! What did you do to him?"_

_Chortling gleefully, Kazutaka answers, "Why, I did to him exactly what he did to me! I raped him!! I made sure he felt all the pain I had felt!"_

_Kazutaka is now on the floor, spread-eagled, laughing maniacally, out of control, tears running down his cheek._

_Shocked and distressed at the revelation, Oriya is numbed by gut-wrenching horror to learn that Saki had raped his beloved Kazutaka. At a loss and struggling to find words to comfort him, he watches the tall frame of Kazutaka, curling on the floor, balling up like a fetus, shoulders shuddering. The sound of Kazutaka's sobs tear at Oriya's heart and he goes over to his friend, falling to his knees._

_Kazutaka flinches at Oriya's touch and swats his hand away roughly, snarling, his anger distorting his handsome face. "Don't touch me! Stay away from me! Don't touch me… leave me alone… don't touch me… leave me…" his words crumble into sobs, and Oriya sits close to his friend, silently crying with him…_

* * *

The chiming of Tsuzuki's phone impinges upon the briefing. While he answers the call, Watari and Hisoka put forth more questions to Konoe and Tatsumi. 

After finishing his telephone conversation, Tsuzuki informs the others that Shin and Abe have sighted Muraki and will remain at their present location to await his and Watari's arrival.

Konoe emits a sound – half-sigh and half-grunt – of satisfaction. "Ah, that's good. It's about time too! I'll try not to keep you and Watari here any longer than necessary, so you can get on with your assignment. I need you to get a glimpse of that doctor… well, let's continue shall we?

"According to the count, his sources in the higher realm believe he, this nameless one, is responsible for the unaccountable vanishing of souls. Upon investigation of the backgrounds of these vanished souls, it was found that as mortals, they harbored certain negative traits. It is suspected that the nameless one is attracted to these dysfunctional mortals – those with sorrow and rage in their hearts, those who seethe with unforgiveness, thoughts of revenge, those who cannot let go of their grief, and those who lust with dark and unspeakable desires.

"He courts these tormented souls, wooing them with promises of fulfillment of their desires, feeding off their misery.

"The souls of these unfortunate mortals who have fallen prey to his deceptively sweet and seductive voice are then bound to him. The tragic result is that after these mortals pass on, their souls never arrive in Meifu, but remain captives of the nameless one.

"Recent search and recovery missions by Shinigami Special Forces have been unsuccessful…"

"Shinigami special forces?" Tsuzuki gapes. "I've never heard of them."

Konoe clears his throat. "Yes, well… Tatsumi, perhaps you would like to take over?"

"Certainly. Please understand, the information Chief has divulged is classified. Each department within the Ministry of Hades has its responsibilities. Because of the fact that we have learned, thanks to Hisoka's efforts, that the words, 'the nameless one' were inscribed on the pentagram Muraki used, it is necessary for you to be informed of certain facts; besides, Muraki's case is our jurisdiction.

"Coming back to this demon… He has grown more powerful, nourished by the ever-increasing tide of evil and chaos in the mortal world. The number of souls that are unaccounted for is rapidly increasing.

"When this stealing of souls first came to the notice of Special Forces, they were able, through the incantations performed by the protector deities, to summon them back to Meifu. These rescued souls proved to be still in torment, and even after having gone through rehabilitation treatment, have been unable to move on, or to take on positions of usefulness within our realm.

"As time progressed, the incantations employed began to prove ineffective in retrieving the lost souls, possibly because the nameless one found a way to counter the spells…"

* * *

Sweat pours from the skin of his lover's chest, his hips bucking wildly. Recovering from his shock, Oriya grabs hold of the rocking hips to still them. Covering Kazutaka's body with his own, he kisses the lips beneath him lovingly, tenderly, tears flowing, in gratitude to his lover's demand. 

To Oriya, Kazutaka's offering of his body symbolizes so many things: he is ecstatic at what he believes to be a complete recovery, a re-emergence of his beloved Kazutaka, a deliverance from the sorrowful memories and despair that had triggered his descent into darkness, a vanquishing of the warped monster he had become.

A multitude of words rush, muddled, through Oriya's mind. Dazed, he attempts to vocalize his thoughts, when, without warning, he is thrown off. After rolling to the ground, he sees his lover, sitting with his legs splayed. Bending one knee, Kazutaka reaches a hand around and beneath his rump to locate his cleft and begins thrusting frantically with his fingers. With his other hand he begins to pleasure himself, gasping, yanking on his shaft determinedly, appearing oblivious to Oriya's presence. A once-more stunned Oriya sees a lolling tongue, licking sensuously over lips.

Although astonished at the spectacle, an anomaly, an act he has never before witnessed Kazutaka engaging in, Oriya finds it charging his body with sexual currents, stirring and girding his own cock to fresh arousal.

Moving closer to him, he encircles his hand over Kazutaka's to slow its frenzied strokes, and kisses him. The mouth he claims clamps over his. Taking hold of Kazutaka's arms, Oriya shifts them both. He positions himself behind his lover's kneeling form, feeling the shuddering of the overheated body. Pushing him to go down on all fours, Oriya gently inserts fingers into his lover's drooling mouth, and Kazutaka greedily sucks on them. He withdraws them to slide one slowly into the hot crevice, delving gently with it, and smiles when he hears Kazutaka's moan.

His lover begins to rock with his finger inside him, his cries of pleasure growing louder. Oriya adds another finger, working with the other to thrill his lover. With his other hand, he reaches for Kazutaka's excited, dribbling penis, squeezing gently while stroking it along its length. He quickens and deepens the plunging of his fingers, their buried tips stroking the hidden landscape of the heated passage, to delight, to increase the pleasurable sensations and harden the balls in the hanging sac swinging back and forth between Kazutaka's spread thighs…

* * *

Missing pieces of the puzzle in Tsuzuki's mind have been clicking into place, and he leans forward to ask, "Where are these souls now, the ones who were rescued?" 

Tatsumi sighs, frowning. "Sadly, because of their troubled personalities, they are held in… well… sort of… detention facilities."

Tsuzuki's eyes narrow. "There is no hope for them, then?"

"They haven't been written off, no, not at all. The officers in charge of their treatment continue to work with them. It is hoped that they may see a breakthrough in their efforts."

* * *

The bellow issuing from Kazutaka's throat, over the roar of the cascading water in the gorge, sounds unfamiliar – another anomaly – to Oriya, and he frowns, his brow furrowing with incomprehension. The organ enclosed in his hand grows iron-hard and begins spilling thick jets of pungent semen over Oriya's hand. 

As Kazutaka springs lithely to his feet, Oriya stares at the white, gluey substance on his hand and wonders why it disturbs him. While he gazes at the semen, smelling faintly of… decay… and ashes, a strange rasping voice next to his ear startles him.

"Are you going to eat that?"

He turns bemused eyes to Kazutaka and any semblance of an answer is choked off in his throat when he sees the red outline around his lover's silver iris.

_What the…? What the hell is going on…?_

Discordant, jangling laughter jolts him, and suddenly, Kazutaka's tongue is avariciously slurping up the semen on his fingers.

"Your turn now, my love…"

Oriya closes his eyes, and gives in to the pleasure of Kazutaka's mouth on his cock. The swift oral teasing of it quickly sculpts it, lengthening and hardening it. Gasping while his growling lover swallows his entire gush, he is amazed when he sees Kazutaka's penis – the organ is fully engorged once more!

His legs are grabbed viciously and pulled apart. Unprepared to receive him, Oriya cries out in pain when Kazutaka penetrates him…

* * *

Gazing intently into Tatsumi's eyes, Tsuzuki breathes, "So, Muraki…" 

Tatsumi finishes his sentence for him. "Has fallen prey to the nameless one, and…

his soul is, in all likelihood, forfeit. This may be an explanation of why his candle…"

"But, Tatsumi, the others who fell victim to this demon, their candles did not…"

"Yes, that's true. Since the black glow around his candle is the first case of its kind, we can only conjecture on the reasons for its alteration…"

* * *

On his hands and knees atop the bed, Oriya's limbs begin to ache, to tremble, the muscles within them straining. Finally buckling from exhaustion, he flops in a sprawl on his belly, his arms flung out on either side of his torso, his legs spread wide to accommodate the man behind him, the man who continues driving his cock into Oriya, undisrupted by his shift in position. 

His own orgasm long over, Oriya shuts his eyes and hears Kazutaka's grunts and growls, while his torso moves forwards and backwards, in accordance with the brutal thrusts into his nether entrance. Hard fingers knead the flesh of his buttocks, pinching cruelly. He hisses, sucking air in through his clenched teeth; the stinging sensations inside his passage are beginning to intensify, and he is convinced that he has been ripped, and is most likely, bleeding…

* * *

Oriya is roused from a deep troubled sleep, by hot hands, groping at his thighs, hard fingers bruising him. He moans, refusing to open his eyes. The thought of looking at Kazutaka again, to see the unbridled lust in place of love in his eye, sickens him. He feels a wave of nausea building in his stomach and gags, almost retching. 

His thighs are forced apart violently, stretching and opening the entrance to his sore passage. He shrieks when Kazutaka rams his cock inside him, ravages him again, driving into him unmercifully. Tears of grief and despair spill from his closed eyes.

When the savage raping of his body is over, Kazutaka disengages himself from Oriya to straddle his hips, panting from his exertions. As he feels the wetness, a mixture of semen and blood, flowing out of him, a shuddering sigh escapes Oriya's throat.

"Kazu… help me… please… I'm bleeding…"

Kazutaka looks at him, his eye glazed over, his expression indifferent, before abruptly leaving the bed, and Oriya feels the crushing weight of his sorrow in his breast, the pain of his heart breaking, and the searing pain caused by Kazutaka's cruel assault.

Growing weaker, Oriya slowly turns his head, his wet eyes looking for Kazutaka in the dimly-lit room, and sees him leaning against the doorjamb, the outline of his pale body silhouetted against the dark expanse of sky above a full, radiant moon as he lights a cigarette.

As Kazutaka smokes, Oriya is on the verge of appealing to his lover again, when he sees the mist…

Along with the exhaled cigarette smoke, thick black mist streams out of Kazutaka's mouth, clearly visible to Oriya against the backdrop of the risen full moon. Watching it gathering to form a cloud, hovering outside the doorway, obscuring the glow of the moon, a terror, the same fear he had felt after he had been hurled away from Kazutaka, when he had seen that same black vapor take hold of Kazutaka before he had slipped into unconsciousness, grips him. He hears ghoulish, nightmarish laughter, not Kazutaka's, but someone else's…

Turning his head away, his closes his eyes. Silently, he calls the name of the deity his mother had believed in, the goddess she had acquainted her son with while he was but a toddler…

'_Celestial goddess of shining light and purity, Sanae, hear your believer now… help me, Sanae… I call upon your powers to vanquish the darkness in my presence… come, Sanae, radiant daughter of righteousness, help me…'_

On and on, he invokes his personal goddess to come to his aid, fighting the fatigue creeping through his bones, until he hears an ear splitting howl of pain.

Returning his sight to the doorway, his eyes are blinded by the flashing bolts of orange and blue light, as terrifying as the dark cloud they challenge, smiting it, beating it back, until it dissipates, roaring with wrath…

* * *

Silence descends in the boardroom as each of the Shinigami considers what Konoe and Tatsumi have told them. Hisoka, abruptly jumping to his feet, frowning and breathing hard, clutching at his chest, disturbs the stillness in the room. 

"Chief, I… I…"

"Yes, I'm feeling it too." Konoe looks over at Tatsumi, who nods his head.

"What?! What is it?!" cries Watari, leaping upright.

The Shinigami chief looks at him with a grave expression. "You and Tsuzuki had better rendezvous with Abe and Shin at once!"

* * *

Materializing at the place where Abe and Shin are waiting for them, Tsuzuki and Watari spot the pair of Shinigami trainees standing outside the gates of a house, situated on a hillside on the outskirts of Kyoto. 

His long hair flying, Watari sprints over to them, with Tsuzuki following him. Almost yelling, he asks, "Where are they?"

With a jerk of his head to indicate the house, Abe replies, "Um, in the house… probably."

Tsuzuki turns his gaze from the darkened house to the trainee, his eyes narrowing. "Probably?"

Abe seems at a loss for words and glances nervously at his partner. Shin reddens and stammers, "Well, we, um… followed them both when we first got here… to the falls at the edge of the woods over there," Shin points to the trees growing adjacent to the garden at the side of the house, "and saw them, Oriya and that doctor…"

Tsuzuki coaxes, noting the man's discomfiture. "Yes, Shin?"

"Well, um… we withdrew and came back here…"

Watari frowns. "Are they in the house now?"

Shin runs a hand through his black hair. "We think so."

Tsuzuki, exasperated now, huffs. "You _think_ so? Shin, whatever is the matter? Spit it out, man!"

Shin snaps to attention at his senior officer's tone of voice. "Yes sir, Tsuzuki-san! Near the waterfall, they were engaging in acts… of an intimate nature, sir… so we…"

Understanding dawning upon him, Tsuzuki clears his throat. Softening his tone, he addresses the pair of trainees. "I see. Good work, men. We'll take over now, and thanks, guys."

After Shin and Abe disappear, the blond at Tsuzuki's side grasps his arm. "We should go look for them! Hisoka and the others felt something…"

"Take it easy, Watari," Tsuzuki squeezes his friend's shoulder to placate him. "Listen, my friend, I know how you feel about Oriya…"

"Huh? Tsuzuki, I… " Watari lets his arm drop, shame-faced.

Tsuzuki, his voice soft, reassures his wide-eyed colleague with a smile. "Hey, don't worry about it, you needn't be embarrassed, Watari. However… we may be confronting Muraki at any moment, so I'm counting on you to stay focused, all right?"

Relief and gratitude are evident in amber eyes looking into glittering amethyst gemstones. "I understand… I will, Tsuzuki… and… thanks…"

"Shush, no need for thanks, old buddy. Come on, let's go find them."

With the stealth and silence of highly trained Shinigami, Tsuzuki and Watari make their way to the back of the house, where, without warning, they come face to face with Doctor Kazutaka Muraki.

The man is sitting, attired in a navy blue kimono, on a garden chair. At first glance, he seems to be dozing – the pair of Shinigami's heightened vision makes out his closed eye.

The two guardians of death are somewhat unsure of what to do next, being completely unprepared to come upon him, the man they have been hoping to glimpse for almost a month, the man now before them without any due warning. Both men silently wonder why their combined acute senses did not detect his presence as they approached the rear garden of the house.

While each one seeks the other's face, Tsuzuki hears a sound, a sound he hears frequently in his dark dreams – that sensuous, taunting laugh – and turns to see the doctor, his visible, normal eye still shut. Muraki's lips move as he smiles, and begins to speak, after his chuckling dies away.

"Ah, Tsuzuki-san. Can't stay away from me, can you?" He punctuates his question with another chuckle.

The dark-haired Shinigami glowers at the seated man, furious with himself for not being able to find anything to say. The ambience in the garden seems to alter; the air seems to grow heady and pervasive with aromas, which Tsuzuki associates with sex.

Inconceivably, though he sees the smirking doctor still seated, arms crossed in front of his chest and a leg bared, thrown over the other, Tsuzuki feels warm breath against his cheek, fingers caressing his throat, a hand cupping and massaging his crotch, making the flesh there tingle and stir…

"Did you miss me, my beautiful Shinigami lover? Have you come back for more… more of the pleasures we shared during our last encounter? Before you plunged that knife into me? Tsk, Tsk, my, my, what a naughty, naughty boy you've been, Tsuzuki! Do you make a habit of stabbing and attempting to murder people after you've fucked them?"

Pique and embarrassment scorch Tsuzuki's face; Watari's presence – his colleague and friend privy now to his shameful secret - horrifies him. Bravely conquering his mortification, he grits his teeth and curses Muraki under his breath.

"Shut up, you bastard! It looks like I didn't stab deep enough, or enough times, to rid this world of filth such as yourself!"

Seeing him in the flesh for the first time, Watari narrows wary, angry eyes at the doctor. Photographs of the infamous doctor have done him no justice, he realizes, as he takes in the splendor of the man in his sight.

Sensing Watari's eyes on him, Muraki gives him a quick once-over and dismisses him with a sadistic grin. Bringing his gaze back to Tsuzuki, Muraki affects a deep sigh and lifts a hand, dramatically placing it over his left breast. "Ah, you wound me deeply, you're breaking my heart, Tsuzuki-san. I've yearned to see you again, and here you are, before me now, as breathtakingly beautiful as ever! Why do you pretend to hate me so, when deep down, all you want is my love, my touch?"

Tsuzuki's traitorous eyes roam from Muraki's face, his pouting mouth, down to the skin on lower legs, covered with shimmering pale down. The ghostly touches on his body intensify, particularly the stroking of his genitals. He gasps and stares, mesmerized by the contours of calf muscles, and fights an overpowering urge to touch them, squeeze them, lick the fair skin, slide his hands upwards between strong thighs, push them apart, play with the soft sac, suck the warm cock there, the same cock that had given him so much pleasure once…

Muraki's lips curl sensuously, his flaxen eyebrow lifts… even the wind seems to do his bidding – the edges of the robe around his legs flap and billow, lifting and parting, opportunely laying bare a lengthy, sculpted alabaster thigh…

Tsuzuki teeters, the pressure of sexual arousal threatening to rip his belly open… he opens his mouth wide to receive the thing sliding into his mouth… as the phantom phallus nudges the entrance of his throat, he moans…

Watari's movement, of coming closer to his side to firmly grip his arm, rouses him, preventing him from falling into the spell of seduction being cast by Muraki, and Tsuzuki growls again, wiping the saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth with a sleeve.

"Stop it, Muraki!! Don't think that I don't know what you're trying to do, you psychotic pervert!"

Muraki rises smoothly to his feet, laughing. In an instant, his movements so fleet that neither Tsuzuki nor Watari registered it, the doctor is standing pressed against the dark-haired Shinigami, with both hands circling his neck. Tsuzuki finds his arms paralyzed, unable to rise and dislodge Muraki's hands.

Still chuckling, he drawls teasingly, "Now, now, my Shinigami lover, watch yourself, I can only stand so much of your insults. Hmm, I should punish you for what you did… how could you have done that to me – give yourself so completely to me, and then try to kill me?"

His hands tighten their hold, causing Tsuzuki to gag and splutter, "Let go of me now, Muraki, or I'll…"

"Or you'll what?" Guffawing delightfully, he looks down into a pair of petrified violet eyes and taunts, "Your pathetic Shinigami methods of subduing me make me laugh! Come now, what say you just apologize, and then we'll kiss and make up, hmm?" One of Muraki's hands drop to the place where Tsuzuki's penis throbs, straining against cloth in its need to stand erect. "Oooh, you are so ripe for me, I want you just as badly… ahhh, the last time we were together, you were _such_ a good fuck, my love…" the doctor nuzzles Tsuzuki's neck, while the Shinigami squirms.

To his abject disgust, Tsuzuki's hand moves against his will, parting silk to reach for Muraki's cock. Without volition, his hand curls around the stiff shaft, squeezing it. Muraki trembles and moans, and begins thrusting to slide his cock back and forth within Tsuzuki's enclosing fist. Mere seconds pass and the Shinigami, a puppet of Muraki's spell, is on the verge of orgasm, his cock jerking, when his colleague intervenes.

Watari has had all he can stand and with a shout of outrage, lunges for Muraki from behind, one of his arms reaching around the taller man's neck, his other grabbing the doctor's arm. The blond Shinigami's valiant efforts are no match against the doctor's superhuman strength, however, and he is thrown off, his hold swatted off effortlessly, and as he lands on the ground unceremoniously on his butt, Muraki is again pressing himself against Tsuzuki, his arms tightly around him, trying to kiss his mouth while the Shinigami's head flails and strains to avoid his kisses.

Watari makes out the materializing form of Seiichiro Tatsumi, appearing close behind Muraki to deliver a blow, backhanding the doctor's neck, stunning him and causing him to reel away from a swaying, dazed Tsuzuki.

Swiftly regaining his balance, an irate Muraki spins around to face his assailant squarely, his scowl melting into an amiable, welcoming smile. "Ah, Tatsumi-san, I'm so glad you could join us! However, that wasn't very nice of you, interrupting my fun like that," he states, wagging a reprimanding finger.

"Hold your tongue, doctor! If you so much as look at Tsuzuki again, I'll destroy you where you stand," Tatsumi's voice quavers with his fury.

Laughing wickedly, Muraki deliberately casts a leering eye at a grimacing Tsuzuki. "There! I've looked! So go ahead and destroy me, Mister Secretary!"

Before the doctor finishes his sentence, Tatsumi has moved towards the doctor, arm poised to smash his fist on Muraki's grinning face.

Muraki sidesteps, easily avoiding Tatsumi's bunched fist. "Come now, you'll have to do better than that!" He doubles over, roaring in amusement. Wiping tears of mirth from his cheek, he straightens to pin a derisive eye on Tatsumi. "Seriously, Mister Secretary, it would be against the rules of your organization to murder me in cold blood, wouldn't it? Would you risk being disgraced and stripped of your rank? Huh, even if you were eventually forgiven, I doubt you would be considered for the post of a janitor!" mocks Muraki smugly.

A seething Tatsumi responds, his voice low and threatening, "Don't underestimate me, doctor. I owe you for everything you did last year. I don't give a damn about what happens to me."

Recognizing Tatsumi's stance and sensing a tremor in the ground beneath him, Watari moves to Tsuzuki to draw him away from the secretary. An ominous rumbling precedes the crumbling of earth and stone, the ground surrounding Muraki begins collapsing and through the fissures, shadows emerge to engulf the doctor.

Unfazed, Muraki bellows with laughter, his form begins to spin within the circle of Tatsumi's shadows. His spinning accelerates, until the three Shinigami discern nothing more than an iridescent blur, the shadows falling away from him, weakening and vanishing.

Unknown to the Shinigami, a figure, enshrouded in the darkness near the house, has been observing the events unfolding in the garden.

As Muraki's body slows its spinning dance, Watari detects something moving in his peripheral vision. Shifting his eyes, he recognizes the man, lurching forward erratically, his long dark hair swirling, stirred by the gusting wind. Realizing something is amiss, Watari's breath hitches in his throat as he watches the barefooted figure staggering closer to Muraki.

By now, his two colleagues have noticed the new arrival and all three Shinigami track his unsteady progress, the man coming to a halt, teetering on his feet, an arm outstretched towards Muraki, who is smirking at Tatsumi triumphantly.

A strained, anguished voice breaks the silence ensuing Muraki's and Tatsumi's clash. "Kazutaka… please… stop this… fight it… Kazu… fight it… I beg you…"

Muraki, whirling around at Oriya's voice, merely looks at him impassively, before inspecting the fingernails of his hand. Suddenly narrowing his eye venomously and smiling, he reaches with his arm, in a gesture of offering his hand to Oriya. "Ah, my poor, beautiful, pathetic Oriya!"

Oriya's beseeching eyes widen, his hands claw at his chest, his head strains backwards with mouth agape, his legs buckle as he struggles to breathe…

"MURAKIIIII! STOP IT!" Enraged, Tsuzuki hurls himself at Muraki, only to be prevented by Tatsumi, the secretary's firm arms holding him back.

Just as Watari charges toward the collapsing form of Oriya, Suzaku and Byakko materialize, the screeching phoenix belching tongues of fire from its beak, and the great tiger, white fur bristling, roaring furiously, as the pair prepares to rout Muraki.

The tumultuous arrival of Tsuzuki's Shiki, responding to the distress of their master, catches the doctor off-guard thwarting his spell of debilitation directed at Oriya, and he springs away from them, leaping high into the air to land softly on his feet behind Tsuzuki and Tatsumi, deviously using the two Shinigami as shields against the Shiki's attacks.

Watari, supporting an unconscious Oriya, lowers himself and the limp man to the ground to tenderly cradle his beloved Oriya in his arms. He looks over at his two colleagues glowering with bunched fists at a smirking, giggling Muraki.

Waving a dismissive hand, Muraki drawls, "Ah, I grow bored of this skirmish. If you will excuse me, most esteemed gentlemen of the netherworld, I must take my leave. As much as I would like to stay and be further entertained, I have much more pressing things to see to."

With a snap of thumb and finger, Doctor Muraki's form dissolves into nothingness, leaving Tatsumi and Tsuzuki snarling with frustration. The latter Shinigami nods his thanks to Byakko and Suzaku, mentally instructing them to depart. Huge wings lift in an arc, and the giant cat roars once more, before both vanish.

Looking down at the ashen face and bruised, swollen lips of the unconscious man in his arms, Watari becomes aware of a wetness seeping into his trousers. At the same time, he detects the unmistakable, metallic odor of blood. Blinking with panic, he gulps and parts the lower front of Oriya's kimono with propriety, ensuring that only his calves and thighs are revealed, and is horrified, frozen, at discovering that the skin of Oriya's inner thighs is profusely smeared with blood. A whiff of something else penetrates the Shinigami's sense of smell. It takes but a second for him to identify it and to deduce what has befallen Oriya, and Watari is instantly shaking with fury.

Tsuzuki and Tatsumi, shaking off their wrath at being bested by Muraki, seek out Watari. In the gloom of the dim lights of the garden, their gaze falls on the pieta-like tableau, and hurriedly join him, staring grim-faced at the blood on Oriya's pallid skin, and then at Watari's stricken visage. They, too, accurately guess the despicable violation inflicted upon Oriya's body and both men's eyes darken with outrage.

Watari, his voice thickened with his anger, splutters, "He requires immediate medical attention."

Noticing Watari's increasing distress, Tatsumi reaches out to touch the blond's shoulder. "We'll bring him to a hospital at once. Watari, let me carry him…"

Shaking his head and tightening his hold on his precious burden, Watari whispers, "No, I will carry him… to Meifu… to our hospital, not to any hospital on earth," determination kindling a fire in his golden eyes. "Please, Tatsumi, he's not safe here, where Muraki can find him, and hurt him again…"

Tsuzuki quickly interjects, "I agree with Watari, Tatsumi. We have to bring him to Meifu, and ensure he is safe," while removing his long overcoat. He wraps the garment, serving as a makeshift blanket, as best he can with Watari helping him, around Oriya's limp body.

At once, Tatsumi gets to his feet, his decision made. "All right, I'll clear it with the upper echelons later, and take full accountability for any repercussions to breach of protocol, since there is no time to waste. Come, quickly, let's teleport now."

Tsuzuki assists Watari to his feet and places his hand on Watari's arm, clasping his other with Tatsumi's. The secretary's hand holds the blond's other arm, thereby enclosing Oriya in their circle of three, ensuring that their bodies will shield Oriya's from any possible injury as they pass through the barrier, charged with spirit energy, between earth and Meifu.

_End of part seven_

_To be continued_

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Writing this chapter was hard on me – I hated doing that to my beautiful Oriya! (Sniffles, and wipes tears away.) Oh, and Muraki – what can I say? When that man is bad, he's very bad! But the story must be written. I was emotionally overwrought while working on this part, what with a certain painful revelation from Muraki's sorrowful past. I'm attempting here to wring compassion from my readers for Dr Muraki – I hope I have succeeded, at least a little. I am awfully fond of Muraki, but this does not mean I condone his acts of violence. I do not advocate all and any crimes of violence whatsoever. Because I like the dashing doctor, my story is a way of digging deep into the monster's psyche, to find the reasons for his sadistic behavior, to understand why he became the man he is. Again, this is not to say that I agree one should become violent and vengeful after being wronged, no, not at all! Thanks for reading – TGO _


	8. Chapter 8

_Special greetings to Morality and Sueona: Thanks for your reviews and continued support for my story! I hope you will enjoy this chapter – TGO_

* * *

**_Part Eight _**

**_Mirror images (1)_**

The lord of eternal darkness is delighted. All of his eyes linger lustfully on the nude form of the man lounging in the sunken bath.

Kazutaka Muraki reaches for a tray on the tiles at the side of the bath and lifts a flute of champagne, raising it in a toast to his vaporous, laughing master. "To you, my lord," he offers, ingratiatingly, and swallows all of the sparkling liquid in the glass with a toss of his silver head.

**"I should be toasting you, my beloved, in congratulations for everything you have achieved! I am well pleased with you, Kazutaka! It has been a bountiful harvest, and, in such a short time, too. You certainly have been industrious, my beauty! Very soon, I suspect your talents at recruiting minions for my army will far surpass mine!"**

The nameless one's ringing laughter echoes through the penthouse apartment as Kazutaka lights a cigarette. Grinning while inhaled smoke streams through his nostrils and from between his lips, he rejoins, "I'm delighted to hear you are pleased, my master. Surpass you? Ah, you flatter me, my lord; it will be a long time before I can excel your skills. For now, it is my pleasure only to serve you." After extinguishing his cigarette, he rises and steps out of the bath.

Eyes like glowing embers watch Kazutaka towel himself dry. When he turns his head to smile at his master, the dark cloud surges toward the naked man to envelop him, and Kazutaka shudders with pleasure…

* * *

_"The gruesome murders have plunged Tokyo into a state of terror. Calls from panicked citizens have been flooding police phone lines, demanding to know what steps are being taken to apprehend the perpetrator as soon as possible, and how to keep themselves safe._

_"The police have no leads as yet as to who might be responsible for the unprecedented number of killings in just two weeks. In the past week alone, there have been seventeen more._

_"When questioned on whether the crimes could be the work of a serial killer, the chief of police stated that at this point, they were not certain, as the murders appeared to be unrelated, that victims seemed to have been randomly selected, and that even the methods used in each murder were dissimilar._

_"Authorities are appealing to the public to remain calm……"_

Konoe, with a disgusted expression on his face, presses a button on the remote to turn the TV monitor off. Leaning back in his leather chair, he closes his eyes, exhaling. His subordinates look at the older man seated at the desk expectantly, each of them feeling sympathy for their chief, who seems to be exhausted, appearing considerably aged in just a fortnight.

"This is… a nightmare! Unparalleled! It's a crisis, people. The King of Hades is furious; his court is in an uproar, and his advisors are clamoring for him to declare a state of emergency. If it comes to this, Special Forces will assume full control, and all of you will have to report to the Special Forces' commander, Urasawa. Heck, even I will have to report to him!" Konoe's torso sags in the chair, he turns his eyes to stare at the falling petals of Meifu's perennial cherry blossoms on the other side of the window, swirling and dancing in the gentle breeze. "Hmmph, I would never have foreseen this…" Sighing petulantly, the Shinigami chief breathes, "It's been a long time since I've had a relaxing holiday…"

The men and women in his team glance at each other apprehensively and commence murmuring among themselves. Tatsumi clears his throat and raises his hand to gain their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, please… if you will… thank you. Before any further announcements are made, we must all continue with our duties diligently. Be assured that new information will be relayed to everyone as soon as we receive it. You all, with the exception of Tsuzuki and Kurosaki, are dismissed. My thanks to you all for coming."

Turning to face the remaining pair of Shinigami, Tatsumi removes his glasses. Tired, sapphire eyes flit from one to the other. "Well, you've got your work cut out for you, you two. Best of luck in locating Doctor Muraki, and, I can't stress it enough, please exercise extreme caution. Don't attempt to tackle him by yourselves once you find him, is that understood? You are to contact either myself or the chief immediately, all right?"

Two heads nod in agreement. Tsuzuki draws closer to where the secretary is leaning against the chief's desk. "Chief, what is going to happen once we find Muraki?"

Konoe sighs and glances at Tatsumi, who replaces his spectacles before he speaks. "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki, I can't divulge details right now… a few… methods… of subduing him, and that demon who controls him… are being discussed as we speak." Pausing to stride to the window and standing with his hands clasped behind his broad back, the chief's right-hand man looks over his shoulder at the two Shinigami who are waiting for him to continue. "I can tell you this, the King wants that entity destroyed… at all costs…"

Asato Tsuzuki tenses as the full implications of Tatsumi's last remark sink in. "At all costs… by that, Tatsumi, could you be trying to imply that Muraki…"

"Yes. Whatever the methods that will eventually be used to defeat that demon… if it is hiding within Muraki's body, I'm afraid he won't survive… unless…"

"Unless what? Wait a minute, Tatsumi, surely before we proceed to destroy the demon, won't we have to exorcise it from Muraki's body first? Oriya said that he was certain he saw something, like a black mist, come out of Muraki, before we confronted him that night. It would seem that this demon does not always remain inside him…"

"If we find the doctor and the demon is not present within him, then fine, it's possible that his life may be spared if we manage to contain him, but… from what I witnessed during our last mêlée, he's certainly a force to contend with – that demon has very likely endowed him with extraordinary powers, it's as though the nameless one has effected a very strong bond with the doctor – it won't be easy to deal with him… that, and… there is an additional consideration. His majesty has, in fact, decreed that Muraki will have to be destroyed, along with the demon. These killings cannot continue unabated… whether or not a successful exorcism is achieved, allowing us to eradicate the nameless one, thus sparing the doctor's life, the fact remains that he himself cannot be allowed to continue murdering mortals and getting away with it… I believe the king has reached the end of his tether – it would be killing two birds with one stone – Muraki's brazen challenges in the past have been tantamount to a personal slap on the king's face, and he's no longer going to stand for it."

"I… I see." Tsuzuki drops into an armchair, exhaling heavily, finally letting out breath he has been holding, experiencing a dreadful cringing, a collapsing, of his insides, as his partner, Hisoka, whistles, visibly awed by Tatsumi's scoop concerning their sovereign's rancor.

"Icarus…" murmurs Konoe.

"I beg your pardon, what was that, chief?" Tatsumi glances curiously at his superior.

"Icarus… he kept flying higher and higher, closer and closer to the sun god, but his wings melted, scorched by the sun's flames… and he fell back to earth…"

* * *

Stirring in the early hours of the morning in his hospital suite, Oriya's eyes open to routinely search for the ever-present angel, the angel who smells of freshly-baked confectionery, who is so generous with his beaming smiles – the angel with the long golden hair… unruly strands that capture available light and glints, illuminating the dimly-lit room… the angel who reminds him of sunshine, and warmth… 

Drowsy eyes make out the form of his guardian angel, nodding in an armchair, an open book in his lap; round glasses perched precariously close to the tip of his nose, and Oriya smiles fondly, in spite of the hurt in his heart…

He remembers waking, in a place that smelled strange, but not unpleasantly so, of nothing like he had ever smelled before – blends of incense and forest rainfall, the perfume of flowers and joss sticks, and the bracing smell of a frosty winter morning; rocking gently in the warm arms of someone who carried him, someone who looked down at him and smiled tenderly when he awoke and moaned…

It seemed like the man, with a golden aura around him, spoke, but his lips had not moved but still smiled… but he heard him say, "Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right. I'll watch over you and keep you safe…"

He felt as though he had been asleep for years, as his sapped body recovered, gradually regaining the strength that had been drained by the entity within Kazutaka. Whenever his thoughts stray, recurrently, to his childhood friend, his anguish returns with full force.

Sometimes, upon waking, he turns his face away from the sight of the angel, to weep silently, letting the spilled tears run down his face… but the angel, even when dozing, always seems to know when he wakes, always moves to his bed to loom over him, placing his warm hands on him, pulling up the covers around him, softly brushing back his hair from his face. His angel's smiles and touch always calm him and lull him back to sleep…

He rarely speaks, but is nevertheless polite, extending his thanks to the staff that tends to him, and, most of the time, to his steadfast angel, who sometimes feeds him, reads to him, relates anecdotes of life in Meifu, and enthusiastically shares details of various bizarre devices, inventions he is working on. Habitually, his radiant companion is inclined to becoming carried away, and blushes delightfully, apologizing profusely for his incessant babbling, but Oriya does not mind. His angel's presence is deeply comforting, his antics pleasantly distracting. It amuses him to no end that his exuberant seraph's hair seems to have an existence all of its own – upon his first appearance each day, it is immaculately groomed; in no time at all, it proceeds to become charmingly wayward, the bright orange bow that his angel seems to favor promptly unraveling, the ribbon left to dangle, snagged by a few strands. Frequently, Oriya resists his urge to touch the wavy golden silk, comb through it with his fingers…

He remembers the incident in Kokakuro – his arms were full of this very same angel, when he had tripped and almost fallen… and how surprised he had been when he felt those warm hands on him – he had always held the belief that the hands of a Shinigami were icy cold; he didn't know why he had always thought that, perhaps it was something to do with death, he wasn't quite sure…

He gazes at the childlike, cherubic sleeping face with its curtain of golden hair falling around it… at the delicate, slim-fingered hands resting on the book…

_How strange it is to be here, alive, in the netherworld, watched over by a Shinigami… A Shinigami with warm hands…_

Oriya's lips twitch in a small smile, a warm sensation washing through him as his eyelids droop.

_Yes… I should go back to sleep, before he wakes again… he must be so tired from his constant attentions to me, and besides, he has his other duties… he needs to rest…_

* * *

_Asato Tsuzuki sits in a large room. Arranged on the shelves lining the walls are dolls, miniature likenesses of girls, boys, women and men, their clothing intricately sewn, made of every conceivable fabric known to humans._

_In the center of the room, the Shinigami sits hunched over, cradling a doll. While he weeps, copious tears coursing down his cheeks to drip on to the doll in his arms, a door swings open and Muraki steps into the room._

_"Ah, Tsuzuki-san, here you are! I've been searching for you everywhere. Have you been admiring my dolls all this time? I have wanted to show you my collection for so long! Do you like them?"_

_Receiving no response, Muraki approaches the huddled form of Tsuzuki and folds himself, squatting next to him. "What's wrong?" he asks, placing his hand on the Shinigami's shoulder._

_"Go away! I hate you!" yells Tsuzuki, pulling away, shrugging off the doctor's touch, and startling the man beside him._

_"Why… why do you hate me?" Muraki coaxes gently._

_"Because you destroy people, you destroy everything!"_

_"Why do you say that? What do you have there?" The doctor reaches for the doll on Tsuzuki's lap._

_"No! Don't touch it!" The Shinigami blocks and pushes Muraki's hand away. "You've already destroyed it!"_

_"Come now, it's a doll, Tsuzuki. I didn't destroy it…"_

_"Yes, you did!"_

_"Is it broken? In that case, I can mend it…"_

_"No! You can never mend this doll! Its heart is broken!"_

_"Tsuzuki, dolls don't have…"_

_"I'll never forgive you! This doll loved you, but you destroyed it. You broke its heart, it bleeds, it will never stop bleeding, because of what you did!"_

_The guardian of death dangles the doll in front of Muraki's face. The doctor gasps, gaping at the doll, horrified. He falls backwards on to his haunches, scrambling to get away from it, shielding his face with a shaking hand. "No, no…"_

_Relentlessly pursuing the cowering man, brandishing the doll before him, Tsuzuki hisses. "Look at it! It bleeds because you broke its heart. It loved you but you hurt it and threw it away! You can never mend it. I hate you. I'll never forgive you. Look at it and see what you have done!"_

_"No…"_

_The Shinigami pulls the doctor's hands away from his face and thrusts the doll into them. Muraki stares in terror at the doll, at its flowing brown hair, its blood-soaked kimono, the blood from it flowing into his hands, pooling in his palms, trickling on to his pristine, white trousers. The doll's eyes suddenly open and it begins to cry. "Why? I loved you. Why did you do this to me? I loved you, Kazutaka."_

_The doctor drops the weeping doll on the floor and crawls to a corner of the room, balls himself up, hugging his knees and sobbing. "No! No! Oriya! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, forgive me…"_

_Tsuzuki, looming over the weeping, wretched figure in the corner, screams, "I'll never forgive you!"_

_"I'm so sorry, ah gods, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to… ORIYAAAA…!"_

_"See, look at all those you've murdered, look at them, look at the blood," the Shinigami grabs white hair, jerking the bowed head up and sweeps his hand in an arc to indicate the display shelves, forcing Muraki to look at the dolls as they rise to their feet, crying pitiably. With their arms outstretched, they plunge to the floor. There, they writhe and convulse in their death throes, the blood from their wounds soaking the white carpeted floor. The smell of blood in the room is overpowering and the doctor gags. The dolls' wailing grows louder and louder._

_"NOOOOOO…"_

_The Shingami releases the doctor, letting his head fall on to his knees, and walks towards the door. Opening it, he leaves without looking back at the huddled figure in the corner, wracked by sobs. At the sound of the door closing, Muraki lifts his head and looks around desperately for the guardian of death. "Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki! Where are you?! Don't leave me here! Please… please don't leave me alone here! TSUZUKIIIIIIII! Help me… please… HELP MEEEEEE!"_

Simultaneously, having shared the exact same dream, two men startle awake in their beds…

In Meifu, Tsuzuki shivers. He wipes the tears from his face with a trembling hand and falls back against his pillow, trying to drive the dream images from his mind. He succumbs to his grief, crying for all the souls murdered by Muraki's hands… for those who died by his own hands… for those he failed to save, for his ineffectuality… for Oriya's broken heart… for himself, for the angst he feels at the imminent death of Muraki… for Muraki himself…

"Muraki," he whispers, astounded by his tears shed for the man, by the pain he feels at the thought of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki dying before he has had a chance to atone, to repent… his soul, lost, condemned to the darkness for eternity…

In his penthouse in Tokyo, Doctor Muraki shudders from the aftereffects of his dream, his skin bathed with icy sweat.

Though he had tried hard to wake from it, he could not, but remained trapped in his nightmare. In it, he saw himself roaring with fright, overcome by guilt, as the bleeding dolls began rising, enlarging, morphing into human beings, blood gushing from their gaping wounds as they stumbled, staggering towards him to surround him. He covered his ears with his hands to block out the awful sound of their cries, his clothes spattered by the fountain of blood. The wailing zombies suddenly disappeared and he found himself partially submerged in warm liquid, treading to stay afloat. The sea started to bubble, the fluid thickening, its temperature rising, the stench of it made him retch, and to his horror, he saw its color changing to deep red, the deep red hue of blood… blood, blood, blood, nothing but blood. Panicked, he whirled hysterically, looking all around him, searching for landfall, a horizon, anything… but he could discern nothing. His feet and legs were snared; he was tugged beneath the surface of the viscous red ocean. He beheld himself thrashing, sinking deeper and deeper… he screamed…

He was still screaming, sitting in his bed, tasting blood in his mouth – in his terror, he had bitten his own tongue.

He glances quickly around him, expecting to find the black cloud – his master – hovering in the room, but does not see him, nor detect his presence. Swinging his feet to the floor, he runs to a cabinet in the living room. After pouring cognac to the brim of a tumbler, he drains it like a thirsting man gulping water. The liquor stinging his throat, he swipes the bottle of brandy and walks to the couch, slumps on it. Draining yet another glass, he cannot comprehend why he feels so desolate, why tears still stream from his eye…

* * *

Yutaka Watari jerks upright in his chair, his eyes falling at once on the sleeping form beneath the bed covers. His beloved is whimpering, his head tossing restlessly. Instantly, the Shinigami stands to go to his side, but finds himself unable to move any further, frozen, cemented to where he stands… 

In his sleep, Oriya hears a voice; the timbre of it is tantalizing and seductive…

"Oriya… my sweet Oriya… it hurts me to see you suffer so… your pain is my pain… I can release you from your pain… come to me, Oriya… I can heal your broken heart… come to me… come to me, Oriya… don't be afraid…"

Watari strains, fighting with every nerve and muscle in his body, willing himself to move, sweat pouring down his face. He panics when he sees Oriya rising, sitting up on the bed and opens his mouth to shout for help, but no sound issues from his throat. The man on the bed, his eyes closed, sways, his head lolls from side to side…

Frantically, Watari calls with the power of his mind. "Hisoka! Help me, Hisoka…"

* * *

Hisoka Kurosaki, unable to sleep due to the tensions of the day just past, leaps to his feet and drops the book he has been reading. The empathic Shinigami reels on wobbly legs as a vision of a stricken Watari, bound by a dark and evil force, floods his inner vision. He gives his head a brisk shake, inhaling deeply before racing to the door of his lodgings. He narrowly avoids slamming into the opening door, and his partner bursting through it. 

Steadying the boy with his hands, Tsuzuki gasps. "Hisoka! The hospital! We have to get there, fast!"

"Tsuzuki…? How did you…? Did you feel something too?"

"No time to explain, let's go!" He grabs the youth's hand and the pair sprints down the hallway…

* * *

Oriya, communicating with his mind, asks, "Who… who are you?" 

"I am one who cares deeply for you, the only one who cares for you… the only one who can help you… come to me, Oriya… don't you want revenge? I can help you achieve revenge… against the one who hurt you… you hate him, don't you?"

"N-no, no… I don't hate him… I don't hate…"

"Oh, of course you do… how can you not hate him? After what he did to you?"

"N-no… it wasn't him, it wasn't…"

Continuing to reach Hisoka telepathically, Watari's anguished eyes never stray from the swaying form on the bed. "Hisoka… get help… fast…"

All of a sudden, the Shinigami feels an easing, a lifting, of the dreadful pressure binding him. Released from it, he collapses, exhausted, breathless, on to the armchair, aware of the temperature in the room beginning to rise. A blinding radiance envelops the room, a great heat emanating from it, and from within the circle of light, the gaping blond sees a figure taking form. He blinks rapidly, terrified. "Oh, dear gods in the heavens, help me," he whispers, as the transparent form slowly begins to take on a more solid appearance. It glides soundlessly towards Oriya, lifting its arms. "No… oh, no… don't touch him…!" he whimpers brokenly. The being turns its head to face him and Watari gasps. Partially opaque now, he realizes it is a woman, surrounded by a shimmering, blue aura, clothed in flowing, dazzling garments, a being appearing to be composed entirely of light. The lips on her beautiful, strangely familiar face smile at him, melting his heart, and he hears her soft, calming voice in his mind, chasing away his fears. "Don't be frightened. I will not harm him… nor you." With that, she gracefully curls herself on the bed and reaches for the still-sleeping Oriya, his expression tranquil now. He falls against her, her arms pulling him against her breast, like a mother tenderly cradling her cherished child.

His vision adapting to the brilliance of the woman and her aura, she is now clearly defined by Watari. As she gently brushes Oriya's hair from his brow, uncovering a place to press her lips on it, the Shinigami stares in wonderment at the two countenances, so close together, disbelieving what his eyes behold – the one who holds Oriya is a spitting image of him, a female version of his beloved!

Ogling at the woman, not daring to even twitch, the Shinigami recalls what Konoe once told him, and it hits him – he is in the presence of a goddess, a true immortal! He watches her, his heartbeat accelerating, her lips moving as she whispers to the man in her arms, marveling, elated at seeing a deity for the first time.

_Her uncanny resemblance to Oriya… who is she?_

When his awe and his sense of insignificance subside, he gulps, summoning his courage to speak. "Divine lady… please forgive me… but, who are you?"

She shifts her head, turns her face of opalescent skin to him and laughs softly, a sweet, musical sound that drives away all lingering traces of the terror the Shinigami felt while paralyzed before her appearance, filling him with a sense of untold rapture, peace and security.

"I am Sanae."

Watari's jaw drops, awestruck again. He observes in silence as she removes something from within her robes. "This is a talisman from the Celestial Emperor himself," she says, "it will protect Oriya, whom you and I both love," while she fastens the string securing the amulet around his beloved's neck. Turning to smile at the furiously blushing Shinigami, she continues, "He will be safe now. The nameless one will no longer be able to seduce him. When he awakes and sees it, he will remember the dream I gave him and he will know that I gave this to him."

Dumbstruck, Watari watches her arms tighten around Oriya, kissing his cheek, her flowing brown hair falling to mingle with the sleeping man's, before she lifts him out of her embrace, tenderly placing his head on the pillow. She rises, her hands linger on him, and the guardian of the netherworld notices her face; for a moment, it is marked by a grimace, of the kind that precedes weeping. It smoothens to a sad and wistful expression, her hands remaining on Oriya, reluctant to let go of him…

The observing guardian is suddenly, unaccountably, gripped by a need to cry. Nebulous visions – of a woman, desperate and pleading, cradling a baby protectively; hands, reaching for her, prying the infant cruelly from her arms; other hands, restraining her as the crying child is taken away from her, and she, the woman, screaming and collapsing with her grief – invade and possess his mind.

He stares at the identical faces – the stunning goddess' and Oriya's – clutching his chest from an overwhelming sense of sorrow and loss, his eyes filling with tears…

_Oh, gods in the heavens, could it be that she…!_

When the visions release him, he swipes at the tears on his face, and Sanae slowly wipes hers. Straightening to her full, impressive height, she floats over to him, bends to place her hand on his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes, a heartbreaking smile – sad and joyful all at once – gracing her lips. "I am very grateful to you, thank you for watching over him, Yutaka Watari."

Unable to reply, numbed by all the emotions resulting from his recent ordeal and his encounter with a deity, the Shinigami manages a tentative smile. With one final, longing glance at Oriya, the goddess vanishes, leaving Watari to droop in his chair, exhausted.

Vaguely aware of urgent footsteps in the corridor beyond the room, Watari collects himself, and turns to see Tsuzuki and Hisoka, breathless and concerned, beside him.

His dark-haired colleague reaches for him. "Watari…" The seated guardian lifts a finger to his lips, and Tsuzuki lowers his voice to a whisper. "Are you all right? What happened?"

The younger Shinigami moves quietly to Oriya's bedside to confirm that no harm has come to him. "Is he…?"

"He's fine now," breathes the blond. "The nameless one was attempting to seduce him… I was powerless to do anything… but then, Sanae appeared…"

"Sanae?!" his companions whisper concurrently, the both of them gawking with incredulity at him.

Standing up on shaky legs, Watari joins Hisoka to gaze lovingly at the serene face of the man he loves. "I'm sensing a deep peace within him," whispers the youth by his side. "Yes… all thanks to Sanae," concurs the blond. He winces, suddenly ashamed, realizing that he had not thanked the goddess.

With his arms around the shoulders of the Shinigami on either side of him, he draws them both to a cluster of chairs. In hushed tones, he recounts to them all that had occurred prior to their arrival.

_End of part eight_

_To be continued in part nine – Mirror images (2)_

* * *

_Author's note: Icarus is a character from Greek mythology. Attempting to escape from King Minos of Crete with his father, Daedalus, the pair flew, with the aid of wings fashioned by Daedalus. Ignoring his father's warning, the youth ascended higher and higher towards the sun god, Helios. His wings melted and he plunged into the sea and drowned._


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to all of you who have been reading and reviewing! Waah, it's past four in the morning, I've just finished editing this part. I would have posted this sooner but RL hasn't spared me much free time. To those of you who have been waiting for this, thank you for your patience – TGO

* * *

_**Part Nine**_

_**Mirror images (2) – The house of tears**_

"I am deeply sorry, Oriya, but I… felt you have a right to know… about what has been happening… and to be informed of the King of Hades' decision…"

The violet-eyed guardian's voice cracks as he stares miserably at Oriya's drooped head, the top half of his face partially hidden behind his long dark bangs, at his tightly pursed lips.

The man who had once been Kazutaka Muraki's lover had sat, staring into space, deathly still, mutely listening to Asato Tsuzuki. Every word had been a razor slicing at his heart.

Never, in all his afterlife existence, has the guardian of death felt so utterly powerless, as he sees the hand that had been clasping the amulet that Sanae gave him drop, to touch the ring on his left hand, slowly caressing it with his thumb.

The platinum band's significance is now heart-wrenchingly crystal-clear to Tsuzuki, and to the other man present, Yutaka Watari.

The blond guardian, bravely and admirably keeping his emotions in check, feels equally helpless, close to despair at witnessing his beloved's quiet grief, fighting his desire to enclose Oriya tightly in his arms and comfort him, resignedly accepting that he would not welcome such a gesture, however well-intended, at such a dismal instance. When his eyes flit to his colleague's, the tears brimming in them, dulling the sparkle of the purple jewels, surprise him. He watches as the man struggles, preparing to speak again, his upper body leaning towards Oriya seated opposite him.

"Oriya… I… wish that I could do… something…" Tsuzuki's trembling voice falters. Suddenly conscious of how hollow and futile his words must sound to the man in front of him, he is defeated into silence. He turns his face to stare sadly at the picturesque view of the lake in the distance beyond the balcony where the three of them sit. Muted cries, the calls of the egrets flying above the glassy water in little groups, swooping and gliding in a perfect display of aerial choreography, reach his hearing. His eyes shift from the flocks of birds to sweep over the brilliant colors of the flowering trees growing around the lake, and then to the less lofty plants, festooned with their gaily-colored blooms.

_It's so beautiful out there… It was kind of Tatsumi-san to arrange for Oriya to stay in this house…_

Annoyed by his irrelevant thoughts at such a somber time, the guardian chides himself mentally and glances at Watari's troubled face, then back to Oriya, who still has not stirred.

_Why… Muraki? You had the love of this man… this devoted individual… his love for you has endured all this time… what conquered the love? Why did you give in to darkness? What… happened to you?_

The Shinigami expresses his frustration with a sigh; the dark head he observes suddenly lifts. Intense light brown eyes gaze at him, flicker to his co-worker, and then back to him. Tsuzuki is somewhat surprised that the eyes studying them are dry, free of tears. The sound of Oriya's voice, soft and steady, startles him, and his body starts involuntarily.

"It must have been very difficult for you to tell me all that, Tsuzuki-san… I'm grateful to you."

The guardian of death, heavy-hearted, his throat tight with tension, is unable to respond. He shakes his head and lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Dressed in plain linen, a maroon kimono and matching robe, clothes from among others that Watari had considerately obtained from Yoshida for his comfort, Oriya slowly rises, moves to the balcony rail to place his hands on it, gazing at the lake for some moments before allowing his head to lower.

"Sooner or later, it would have come to this… He… was lost to me… a long time ago… darkness stole him from me… I have shared your sentiments of frustration, Tsuzuki-san."

Surprised, the guardian blinks, his brow knitting at Oriya's accurate perception of his state of mind, but dispels his reaction to become attentive again when the man resumes speaking.

"As hard as I tried, I couldn't find him… the man I once knew… I could tell you… so many things… about the man I lost, about the things that happened… in that house of tears…" Oriya pauses, hesitates, looks at the pair watching him keenly, their bodies rigid with expectancy, hanging on to his every word.

Both Shinigami are filled with admiration for the man before them, for his grace, his dignity in the face of his heartbreak, an old sorrow that must have weighed down his heart for all the years past.

The subdued voice seems to draw the souls of the duo nearer, closer and closer to the tall, tragic figure, until they experience an uncanny sensation of being pressed against him, all of them divested of their clothing. Without the barriers of fabric, just skin against skin, they feel themselves infiltrating Oriya, being absorbed into his body, becoming one with him. There, inside him, they weep, experiencing first-hand each spasm of hurt, loneliness, helplessness and, despair.

Breathing hard and fast when their trance is broken, they hear Oriya's voice again and turn their dazed, moist eyes to his face, Watari recalling how he had been trapped by visions in the presence of the goddess Sanae. With widened, blinking eyes, the blond and his fellow guardian both perceive a faint indigo glow outlining Oriya's form.

"Yes, I could recount to you all the tragedies that took place in that house… where Kazutaka Muraki was born, where he grew up, became a man who, in spite of all the sadness and hurt plaguing him, struggled in overcoming them to become someone who could treat the sick… where he became the young man I pledged my love to… but… I won't…"

Holding their rapt attention, the pair spellbound as he stops there, his last two words baffling and frustrating them, Oriya directs a sad, heart-stopping smile of acknowledgment to Watari, before turning his full attention on the guardian next to him, his smile having the same effect on him as it had on the blond.

"Tsuzuki-san, I need you… to do something for me."

The Shinigami, overcoming a disturbing sense of being 'read', of his mind being opened, ripped apart and examined, rises unsteadily to his feet, drawn without choice, closer to stand before Oriya, half of him afraid of what he will hear, but none the less acquiescing.

"Of course… anything… just say it and I'll do it, Oriya."

"There is a sprawling mansion, north-west of Kyoto, near Mount Arashiyama. I would like you to go there…"

Tsuzuki gasps. "Will… I find… him… there?" At once deeply sorry that he had asked that question, he offers Oriya an apologetic expression, tinged with shame.

"It's all right, Tsuzuki-san. No, I don't think he will be there… it is unlikely he will be at his ancestral home." Oriya stops to sigh. "Even though I know the locations of all Kazutaka's residences, please… do not ask me to divulge them… I… cannot… betray him into your hands… please… I beg for your compassion and understanding…"

The guardian immediately draws very close to the now plainly anguished man. Just short of embracing him, he grips his shoulders compulsively. "I would not think of asking you for such, and to place you in that position, Oriya, please believe me," he tells him, soothingly, and registers the sigh of relief from Watari behind him.

"Thank you." Oriya's gratitude is evident in his face, and in the bow he executes, a gesture halted halfway by a flustered Tsuzuki, catching hold of him and shaking his head. "No, no, no need for that, Oriya."

"Will you go to the mansion, Tsuzuki-san?"

"Can you tell me it's exact location, and… what I am supposed…?"

"You will know where it is… and you will know what to do, Shinigami-san."

Tsuzuki finds himself gazing deeply into those eyes; that trance-like sensation overtaking him again, the pair of hazel irises enlarging in stages until they seem to hover before him, a pair of glowing moons. Closing his eyes drowsily, he breathes, "I'll go at once."

"Thank you, Tsuzuki-san. And, please bring the young one with you…"

"The young one? You mean… Hisoka?"

Oriya nods his head.

"Yes… of course, Oriya."

* * *

Just before sunset, Tsuzuki and his young partner arrive in the Arashiyama district. A fatigued Hisoka suppresses a yawn and balks at the older man.

"I'm still not sure about this, Tsuzuki. We're supposed to be searching for Muraki. If the Chief or Tatsumi find out about this, we'll both be in serious trouble…"

Smirking mischievously, the older Shinigami quirks an eyebrow. "Well then, let's just hope they won't find out."

"One more thing… that night, at the hospital, how did you know that Watari was in trouble?"

Ah, that… it was the weirdest thing… I just sensed it. I felt everything Watari felt… I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, it wasn't very pleasant at all! Now I know what it's like for you, kiddo."

"So… this means… that you could be empathic…"

"I'm not quite sure. With Watari's experience, I was somehow able to cut off the sensations. That was the first and only time I have experienced such a thing… I don't know if I have the same ability as you, or whether it's voluntary or involuntary empathy. Anyway, let's get moving."

"Okay, but where is this place?"

"Um… that's the thing… I don't know."

"WHAAAAAT?! Tsuzuki, I swear, sometimes you really piss…!"

"Calm down, Hisoka. Oriya said I would know… I admit I'm a bit baffled, but he seemed so… now that I think about it, the whole thing was quite strange… there was something different about him…" Tsuzuki looks at the youth, who frowns at him. "Hisoka, what do you think… about what Watari told us, regarding Sanae and Oriya… could he be right?"

The young guardian of death shrugs. "Could be. Then again, their resemblance to each other might merely be a coincidence…"

"Hmm, yeah, but for her to show up in person and the way she behaved with Oriya, and the visions Watari saw, I mean, it's all pretty mind-blowing… Oriya, child of a deity? Hmm… Okay!" Tsuzuki points an index finger skywards, "Let's get down to business! I'd best start figuring out what to do now…" Hands on his head, he huffs.

"Yep. You'd best do that."

"Shhh, Hisoka, let me concentrate."

The youth rolls his eyes. Turning to look at Tsuzuki, he sees him staring ahead, jaw set determinedly, his expression serious.

Asato Tsuzuki slows his breathing to a slow steady rhythm, closes his eyes and lets his head tilt backwards. Clearing his mind of clutter, he focuses on a single image – the face of Kazutaka Muraki, pictures him as a child, whispering his name repeatedly. Seconds tick by as the Shinigami deepens his concentration, and then, it happens: he feels a gentle force tugging at his consciousness. Yielding to the sensation, he stretches out his hand to the youth. Hisoka instinctively grasps it without question and the older man lifts off the ground with his partner, who glances at Tsuzuki's face as they both ascend higher. The young Shinigami notices that his partner's eyes are still shut and realizes that he is performing the phenomenon known as 'blind flight'. He follows suit, and closes his eyes, emptying his mind so as not to distract and interfere with his partner's concentration, placing his trust completely in the man whose grip tightens on his hand as they gain speed. After ten minutes of rapid flight, during which time Hisoka allowed himself to be led through the ascents, descents and directional shifts, until their final joint descent and soft landing.

Two pairs of eyes open at the same time. Hisoka looks around him, impressed by his partner's feat. "Whoa, that was amazing!" Tsuzuki is as amazed as the boy, but pleased, that he had managed to pull it off, and, at Hisoka's approval.

Before them, where they stand on a driveway, looms a large, two-storied mansion, partially obscured by low clouds, indicating to the pair that they are somewhere on the foothills of Mount Arashiyama. The cloud mists lend an atmosphere of gloom to the house and its surrounds, causing Hisoka to shiver involuntarily, apprehensive at the thought of entering the house – the home where the dark beast of his nightmares was born, where he grew up.

As if sensing the boy's trepidation and reluctance, Tsuzuki holds him in a tight embrace. "Don't worry, Hisoka, nothing and no-one will harm you here." The youth nods, immensely grateful for his partner's care, his presence and reassurance.

"What now, Tsuzuki?" Hisoka raises his head to look into his partner's eyes, glittering as they flicker from window to window of the house.

"We go in, and walk through the rooms… that's what I'm sensing we must do."

And so, the pair of Shinigami in the portico of the mansion, stand at the threshold of their journey – a journey that, unbeknownst to them, will take them back in time, and into Kazutaka Muraki's past.

* * *

After their evening meal, Yutaka Watari had coaxed his silent companion out of the house to join him on a stroll, taking him down the path leading to the shimmering lake.

The Shingami's gaze, shifting from the full moon in the sky to its twin gleaming in the still waters, wonders how Hisoka and Tsuzuki are faring, and about Oriya's purpose in sending them on that errand.

"Watari-san."

The blond's heart skips a beat, as it always does at the first sound of Oriya's voice. Turning to look at him, the guardian's breath is stolen from him at the sight of Oriya, as still as an exquisitely wrought sculpture, bathed in moonlight.

"Yes, Oriya?"

"Thank you, for everything."

"No, it is nothing. I have been happy to be of help…"

The taller, dark-haired man takes a few steps closer to the blond. "It meant a lot to me. I want you to know that. I'll never forget you, Shinigami-san. Will you convey my gratitude to the rest - Tsuzuki, Tatsumi, and Hisoka?"

"Please, call me… Yutaka… of course, but… why are you talking this way…?" Gasping as Oriya's intention dawns on him, he asks, "Are you… leaving?"

The dark head lowers. "Yes. I would like to return now, to my world. Will you take me there, Yutaka?"

The guardian of death hesitates with dismay, something crushing inside him, desperately searching for words, wanting to keep his beloved close to him, for just a little while longer, his heart and mind screaming…

_I LOVE YOU! OH GODS, HOW I LOVE YOU, ORIYA! STAY WITH ME, DON'T GO… DON'T GO…_

But he knows it is impossible: he cannot make him, yet a mortal, with a life to live out, stay in the netherworld. The thought – that he might never see Oriya again, hear that resonant voice, both in speech and song, gaze into the twin pools of hazel light, breathe in his sweet scent, never get a chance to court him and win his heart, never get to kiss those lips of pale coral or caress his alabaster skin, to pledge his love to him, make love to him, lay bare his soul to him – is more than he can bear, and he turns away, terrified that everything he is feeling will be displayed on his face.

"Yutaka…?"

The whisper, inflected with concern, does nothing to lift him out of his heartbreak, and he struggles for self-control, before facing the being that stands, so close to him, but so completely beyond his reach.

"I will take you back, Oriya, but… not now, not tonight…"

"Why…?"

"Because I know what you are going through, I can feel it… all the anguish in your heart… I know all you want is to be alone, so I cannot see your grief, your tears. How bravely you have carried yourself this far, not wanting both Tsuzuki and I to see you break down… I can't… I won't… let you go now, Oriya… I cannot bear the thought of you, all alone in your sorrow… let me in, please… I know I cannot take your pain away, but… I can hold you… there is no shame for a man to cry in front of another, another who… cares deeply about you," Watari, his voice breathless and quavering, close to breaking, pauses, his arms tentatively reaching out, "please, let me hold you… let it all out now, here, in my arms."

He steps closer to the still figure, arms open and waiting, and sighs when Oriya, his pretense of calm finally crumbling, slumps against him. His shoulder supporting his head, the guardian's arms tighten around his beloved's shaking frame, allowing him to expend numerous years' worth of grief that had been buried in his heart.

* * *

Taking hold of Hisoka's hand, Tsuzuki leads the way, passing through the main door of solid oak. As soon as the younger Shinigami follows suit, he is instantly floored. His knees buckle, and he doubles over to slide to the floor, bringing his partner with him.

The boy's eyes are wide as he gasps and rocks his head from side to side, his mouth formed in a rictus of a silent scream.

"Hisoka!" Panicked, Tsuzuki grabs the incapacitated youth to pull him close. "Listen to my voice, Hisoka, focus on my voice… I've got you… breathe, Hisoka, breathe deeply…"

"Tsuzuki…?! I… can't… bear it… too much… oh, no… too much… the sorrow… no! I can't bear it… I'm sinking, drowning… it's pitch black… I can't see!"

"Hisoka, listen to my voice, breathe, damn it, breathe, fight it… good! I have you in my arms, pull yourself out of it, good…"

Little by little, the boy, hanging on to the sound of Tsuzuki's voice, struggles to breathe, fighting the sorrow tearing at his heart. Regaining his vision, he searches for the familiar, comforting sight of his partner's countenance, and slowly calms.

Holding him tightly, whispering reassurances, a relieved Tsuzuki smiles into dazed emerald eyes. "There, there, you're all right now, Hisoka."

Although he had felt the powerful tide of sorrowful emotions invading his psyche, Tsuzuki had instinctively, without thought, put up mental shields against them. While continuing to soothe Hisoka, he is amazed at what had happened, at his ability of putting up barriers against the empathic force. He is as dazed as the boy, realizing that he is now in possession of voluntary empathic powers. A candle, extracted from a pocket of Tsuzuki's trench coat is swiftly lit by the Shinigami's power, something he had learned to do in his first year of apprenticeship.

_Oriya, I think I understand now… what it is you want us to do._

Placing the candle between them, he holds the arm of the boy, who is considerably calmer now and looking around the room, adjusting his vision to the gloom around them. The entrance hall is devoid of furniture, except for a tall, silent grandfather clock beside a doorway next to a wide staircase leading to the upper floor.

"Hisoka, what we are about to do may prove difficult for you. What you just experienced was a combined onslaught of the residual impressions lingering here. It hit me too, but without even trying, I blocked it with shields…"

The youth expresses surprise. "How…?"

"I don't know how, it just… happened. It seems I may be a voluntary empath. At this stage, I'm not quite sure yet. You, however, have involuntary empathic powers, so you will glean the emotions of everyone who lived here, without being able to block them. Oriya referred to this place as 'the house of tears'. I should have known what to expect… what would happen to you. I'm sorry, Hisoka, I just wasn't thinking, I should have warned you…"

"It's not your fault, it's okay, Tsuzuki… I'm fine now."

Smiling affectionately at his young friend's magnanimity and squeezing his arm, the older guardian asks, "Do you want to continue, or shall I proceed alone…?"

The youth shakes his head. "No, I'll go with you. Now that I know what to expect, I think I'll be all right. Besides, I've got you with me," he assures alongside his cheeky grin.

"That's the spirit, you're a real trooper!" Helping the lad to his feet, the Shinigami is pleased, especially so because Oriya had specifically wanted his young partner to come here.

_I don't know why yet, Oriya, but I guess we'll find out soon enough…_

The twosome turn their eyes to the staircase, and this time, it is Hisoka who takes the lead…

* * *

_The young mistress of the house is miserable, homesick, and missing her family. Forced by her parents into a loveless marriage, she feels abandoned, betrayed…_

_Night after night, after she has endured the unwanted attentions of her stern husband in their bed, she goes to the window to gaze at the dark indigo sky, the illusory canopy that separates the heavens from the earth, demarcating the world of the mortals from the immortals. She sadly imagines the celestial beings that reside there touching their fiery torches to the things mortals call 'stars' to light them…_

_Loathing the thought of returning to lie down next to the snoring man, she passes her nights in another room, among her dolls. Collecting them distracts her from her sadness. She sews clothes for them, painstakingly stitching them by hand, her tears sometimes dampening the cloth…_

_Her only joy is her newborn son…_

_She laughs as she dances around the nursery with the gurgling, chirruping baby in her arms…_

_"Oh, I love you so much, my darling child, my beautiful Kazutaka…"_

_He is as fearful of his father as much as his mother and the servants are. He doesn't understand why his Papa never smiles at him, never plays with him, never hugs him…_

_But he adores his mother, and loves looking at all her dolls, naming them, one by one…_

_"I've got a new doll, Kazutaka, come and see! You must choose a name for it…"_

_Sometimes, seeking her out as he always does when he comes home from school, he finds her crying. But she always smiles when she sees him, opens her arms to him, for him to fold himself against her petite frame…_

_Lying in his bed, he cannot bear the yells of his father, and the sobbing of his mother…_

_One night, he stands outside the door of his parents' bedroom, trying to find the courage to knock, to go in and tell his father to stop making his Mommy cry…_

_"Stop your blubbering, you bitch! Don't think that I don't know! That bastard is not my son! What? You think I'm stupid? You've made a fool of me, you whore! You think I don't know what my friends are saying behind my back? Huh! The only things of worth you brought into this marriage are your family's good name and money!"_

_The boy, his small body trembling with fear and something he has never felt before – a new emotion – feels his tears trickle down his hot cheeks. He hears the slap and his mother's shriek of pain._

_And that was when the seeds of hate were sown in the boy's tender, young heart…_

_But like all children, he felt guilt for feeling anger and hate towards his father, and desperately craved his father's love…_

_He was exceptionally well mannered, respectful towards his father, studying hard, excelling in school, determined to become a doctor like him and his grandfather, to become the best doctor the world had ever seen. Yes, he resolved to work hard to earn his father's love…_

_Not one of his achievements gained approval, or a single smile from his father…_

_Denied the love of his father, his mother became priceless to him. Comforted by her smiles and embraces, amid her beloved dolls, he tried to forget about his unhappy world outside and beyond her favorite room…_

_There came another whose smiles made his miserable home life bearable – a boy with dark hair and shining brown eyes. He was seven when the boy, the son of a potter and a seamstress, joined his class in the middle of the school year. The other rich kids in their class laughed at him, made fun of him, but Kazutaka had warmed straightaway to the new kid, adoring his grins, toothless from the loss of his milk teeth, admiring his nonchalance, and his courage in staring down his tormentors and shrugging off their cruel taunts…_

_He would bring his best friend home with him after school, only when he was sure that his father would not be at home, because his father strictly forbade him to have his friends over._

_Coming home unexpectedly early one day, the outraged father eyed his playmate with distaste, shooing him rudely out of the house. As he endured the sting of the cane, his mother intervened, only to be shoved roughly out of the room. He wept in his bed when he heard his mother's cries that night. The price she paid for coming to the defense of her son was painfully apparent on the pale, tender skin of her face._

_The seeds of hate began sprouting…_

_He rebelled, ignoring his father's admonishments to cease associating with 'that peasant child', and spent time at his friend's humble lodgings…_

_Kazutaka grew into his teens, working at his studies ever more diligently, vowing that when he became an adult and able to earn his own keep, he would take his beloved mother out of this house, remove her from her sad plight, provide for her, give her the life she deserved, away from the man who looked at her and at him with cold hatred in his eyes…_

_Then came that fateful day that brought an event that was to be the impetus of Kazutaka Muraki's descent into darkness._

_The boy called Saki Shido, whom his father proudly presented as his eldest son, and therefore his rightful heir, stood before him, arrogant and smirking…_

_His mother's objections earned her a severe beating, and he implored her to say no more, placating her with his plans to gain their freedom._

_His rage watered the shoots of hatred in his heart…_

_He seethed, watching his father shower love, attention and broad smiles of pride upon his strutting half-brother, all the things he had been denied…_

_His beloved mother became frail and sickly, her eyes dulling as the days passed. When her hands began shaking severely, preventing her from sewing garments for her treasured dolls, Kazutaka would stitch them for her, doing everything he could think of to make her smile…_

_One night, returning to his room after the evening meal, he felt drowsy and a peculiar throbbing in his limbs. He could not open his eyes nor struggle when he felt groping hands on him… something being stuffed into his mouth… his hands being bound… his trousers and underwear being removed… turned over, his legs forced apart…_

_His tears soaked his pillow; no-one heard his muffled cries while his innocence was shattered, but he heard every derisive taunt, every mocking laugh, recognized whose voice it was…_

_Sedated for the duration of his treatment, he awoke after several days to find his father standing next to his bed, graven-faced._

_"Father, Saki… did this to me… it was Saki…"_

_"Be quiet. You are delirious with fever."_

_"No, father! It was him, you must believe me, he hurt me…"_

_"You must rest. This will help calm you."_

_Before he felt the needle plunge into his arm, the man he called 'father' told him, "You must never breathe a word of what happened to you to anyone. If you do, your mother will suffer for it, do you understand?"_

_He vowed to himself that he would wreak vengeance… someday… somehow…_

_His vow fertilized the sapling of hate…_

_One morning, he was called home from school. His mother was dying. She squeezed his hand weakly, once. When the light in her eyes went out, so did the light in his heart._

_From her dresser drawer, he removed a small, jewel-studded box of silver. Inside it, he found, wrapped in tissue, gossamer wisps of white hair – the hair that had grown upon his head when he was still in his mother's womb. He secreted this memento of a mother's love for her child in the room filled with her dolls._

_Gently removing the blood-red garnet studs – her favorite earrings that she always wore – from her cold earlobes, he resolved to have his ears pierced and to wear them forever in memory of her._

_Murderous hatred flashed in his eyes, swollen with grief, when he approached the breakfast parlor and heard laughter. His father and stepbrother turned cold, disdainful eyes to him. Unable to stomach the sight of them, their gaiety, so unaffected and disrespectful of his grief, he bolted from the room. Seeking refuge in his room, he resumed his bitter mourning…_

_The months following his mother's demise saw his father succumb to a mysterious ailment. A seemingly distraught Saki summoned numerous physicians to treat their father, but his condition worsened._

_Saki was inconsolable when he died, and even though Kazutaka could shed no tears at the passing of his father, he felt sympathy for his half-brother, who was almost hysterical in his grief… until the day of the funeral._

_As the cortege made its way to the temple, he saw the scornful lips, twisted in a smile on Saki's face, at a remark of the tragedy of his parents' deaths by one of the mourners, a family friend._

_He confronted Saki, who sneered and laughed raucously._

_"You should thank me, Kazutaka. I got rid of him for you. You hated him, didn't you?"_

_Stunned with shock, he looked at crazed eyes. "You bastard! What did you… why…?"_

_"Aw, don't be such a hypocrite! I saw the way you looked at him. I did us both a favor! It was so easy! I was poisoning them, our father, and that insane mother of yours. I merely put her out of her misery."_

_Blind with rage, he lunged for the giggling murderer of his parents, but Saki was prepared for him. Swinging the katana he had been concealing behind his back, he slashed the flesh on Kazutaka's cheek._

_"I am now the master of this house and you will be my slave! You will submit to me… and by 'submit', I mean it in every sense of the word!"_

_Every one of Saki's words had been overheard by one of his father's retainers, a man who had secretly detested his master's tyrannical treatment of his wife and son. A bullet from his shotgun put an end to the life of Saki Shido, his body toppling over, his head coming to rest on Kazutaka's thigh, where he sat sprawled on the floor._

_He let out a horrendous roar, feeling no satisfaction or sense of justice at the death of Saki. He shoved the corpse away from him, giving way to hysterical laughter, amid his sobs._

_When he calmed, his plan of exacting his revenge was hatched in his mind – a mind clouded with grief and hate._

_He stored his secret in his heart, where the tree of his hatred grew…_

_Emptiness, loneliness, sinking into deep, bottomless sorrow and hate…_

_He battled against thoughts of suicide; found comfort and a sense of purpose by nursing his secret, anticipating the moment when he would claim his revenge…_

_Many a starry-eyed girl hoped to win his heart, but he only looked at them with cold, empty eyes…_

_His plucky best friend, Oriya, was always there when he thought he would go mad, distracting him with his warm smiles and embraces, his soothing voice appeasing his rage…_

_Lying with his head on Oriya's lap one night, he confided his secret to him. His friend, who had grown from a gangly, skinny child into an alluringly beautiful youth with a lean and strong body, listened calmly. The ends of Oriya's soft hair tickled Kazutaka's cheek when he bent his head and gazed into his eyes, and, or so Kazutaka felt, into his soul. Without reproach, words dripped softly from the lips above his face. "No, Kazutaka, you mustn't… let go of your hate, let go of your grief… let them go… you must not seek revenge…"_

_And so, a battle began to take place in Kazutaka's heart…_

_The hate that had grown so strong there went into stasis, quelled by Oriya's constant beseeching. His friend implored him to dispose of Saki's head. Confronted by Oriya's sad eyes, he found himself wanting to please his friend, to give in to his request. But each time he made his daily pilgrimage to view his secret possession – his stepbrother's head, preserved in a locked basement room with equipment borrowed from his grandfather – his desire for revenge consumed him, making his skin tingle with excitement. Standing before the vessel containing the head, Oriya's words echoed through his mind, warring with another voice…_

_Kazutaka had begun to hear, even when asleep, a sweet, hypnotic voice, praising him, encouraging him, promising him fulfillment of his plans to exact his vengeance…_

_It was at this time that Kazutaka's feelings toward Oriya began to change. Surprised by the fact that his heart raced whenever his friend visited him, he couldn't deny what was happening to him: what he felt was no longer merely affection for a friend, but something wholly different, tinged with intense desire. He hid his sentiments from Oriya, unwilling to risk ruining their friendship. But he couldn't help, or stop himself from thinking about Oriya whenever he pleasured himself. His releases were attained quickly while imagining those long, strong legs wrapped around him, his beautiful lips circling his erect member._

_While Oriya's attractive attributes distracted him from his pain, crazed him, Kazutaka noticed other aspects about his friend: his smiles had become shy; his self-consciousness; his adorable blushes when Kazutaka's eyes lingered on his perfect, moon-white face._

_Oriya's bashfulness was clearly apparent when Kazutaka, determinedly keeping his lust in check at the sight of his friend's long, lean back and narrow waist, joined him one day while he bathed. Although they had bathed together often enough in the past, on this occasion, his companion quickly turned away to hide his frontal nakedness from him. Puzzled, he moved in front of the trembling form and saw the cause of his behavior. Kazutaka became instantly aroused; the response of his body drew a gasp from Oriya, whose arms at once sought him, drawing him close. Soft, fevered lips tentatively kissed his cheeks. Giddy with joy from discovering Oriya's desire for him, he groaned, crushing him in his embrace and claimed his mouth…_

_Little did Oriya know that while he slept next to his lover, after blissful demonstrations of their deepening love for each other, another was seducing Kazutaka…_

_The voice that whispered to Kazutaka in his sleep became ever more irresistible, arousing. Experiencing sensations of floating, being caressed by warm currents of air, Kazutaka became sexually excited. "I am the only one who loves you, Kazutaka," whispered the voice, "the only one who can make you truly happy."_

_"But… who are you? Show yourself to me."_

_"Soon, my beloved, when the time is right, I shall reveal myself to you."_

_While betrothed to Oriya, Kazutaka became a fully-fledged doctor. Returning to his ancestral home after a visit to his mother's grave, the voice made itself heard to him in earnest._

_"Did you hear her, Kazutaka?"_

_"Wh-what… hear whom?"_

_"Your mother. Didn't you hear her, Kazutaka? I can hear her. Her soul is in torment, trapped between this world and the realm of the afterlife, unable to move on. Her soul cries out for vengeance against the one who killed her…"_

_"You… you can hear her? What does… she say?"_

_"She begs me to help her. 'Tell my beloved son, Kazutaka, to save me. He is the only one who can save me,' she says. You must help her. When time eventually runs out for her, her soul will be lost, forever…"_

_"No! Oh dear gods in heaven, no!"_

_"Why do you call to the gods, Kazutaka? They do not care about you. I am here for you, here to help you. I will be your god. You must decide now. You must appease your mother's spirit; you are her only hope. Will you help her?"_

_"I will. I'll do anything…"_

_Kazutaka Muraki, fallen to the floor on his knees, sobbing with unquenchable sorrow for the plight of his mother's soul, promised his own soul in return for the deliverance of her's, forsaking his love for Oriya._

* * *

Hisoka Kurosaki stirs, awaking from a deep sleep of several hours. He looks around him, discovering he is back in the Tokyo hotel room he and Tsuzuki had checked into when they began their search for Kazutaka Muraki. Gradually, he recalls slumping against his partner after his empathic ordeal; the rushing of cold night air on his face, nestled in Tsuzuki's arms; being placed on the bed.

He joins the other occupant of the room, Tsuzuki, standing at the window. The approaching dawn symbolizes the state of the young Shinigami's mind – the rising sun casts pale pink and orange swirls of color, lighting up the eastern sky, chasing away the dark hue of the fading night. He turns his eyes to his partner, moving close to him as an arm lifts to encircle his shoulders.

"Have you rested well, Hisoka?"

"Yes… for the first time in years, since… not a single nightmare about… him… troubled my sleep."

"I'm glad."

"It was… an extraordinary experience, wasn't it?"

"That it was."

"That boy… Saki… he looked just like me… it was like I was seeing myself…"

The older Shinigami sighs, remembering with a twinge, the bodiless head he had seen in the vault the previous year, his body beginning to shudder involuntarily, glimpsing a vision in his mind's eye, of himself, his hand releasing a bloodstained knife, watching it clatter to the floor, looking at his hand, bemused by the blood on it…

Concerned, Hisoka holds him. "Tsuzuki, you're shaking! What is it?"

"It's nothing… I'm just a little tired…"

"You haven't slept at all, have you…?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine…"

"Like hell you will!" Instantly contrite at his stern tone of voice, the boy softens it. "You've been thinking… about how to help him, haven't you?"

"Yes… I have."

"Come, lie down here." The youth tugs his partner, leading him to the couch. "You've held out long enough, Tsuzuki. You should rest before you collapse."

His head pillowed on Hisoka's lap, the exhausted guardian of death murmurs, "Does it bother you, Hisoka… that I want to help him?"

"No. I understand why you want to. In his sorrow, he was preyed upon, and deceived by that demon. If I… had not died from that spell Muraki placed on me… I might have become like him… if I just supposed that I had ended up like him, crazed with grief and seduced by that evil entity, I'd like to think that someone like you would want to help me."

Looking into the youth's eyes, Tsuzuki smiles. "I'm so proud of you, Hisoka. You have a generous heart."

"I learned from you, Tsuzuki. Sleep now. We're both going to need our strength."

Before his eyelids droop and sleep washes over him, Asato Tsuzuki slurs, "You're a wily one, Oriya…"

"Wily, yes, but he has a generous heart as well," whispers Hisoka.

_End of part nine_

_To be continued_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hi! I had not meant to take so long to post this, but I couldn't help it; it's been tough finding time to work on this. I had to rewrite this part several times until I was satisfied with it – my sincere apologies for the long wait._

_Thanks again to all of you who are following this: Sueona, Morality, Princess Sin, Xelena, Chazmy, Jollyolly and Maudite – I really appreciate all of your feedback!_

_To Xelena and Chazmy: In answer to your question: who does our favorite Doctor love more – Oriya or Tsuzuki? --__Well, in the context of my story, Muraki is, short of using the word 'insane', just not in his right mind. Pain and sorrow and his lust for revenge have distorted his mind. After he left Oriya when the demon told him about his mother's soul, his sanity went further downhill. Sadly, he is incapable of feeling love for another person anymore, but has been driven single-mindedly by his need to seek revenge. After recovering from his injuries, some of his memories return, and he remembers that he once loved Oriya; the demon used this to keep Oriya from trying to pull Muraki back to him, because Oriya's love seems to have a power over Muraki. When they were both younger, Muraki was deeply in love with his friend, but after the demon came back for him, Muraki slipped back into madness. All he is capable of feeling are hate and lust, these negative traits having been further augmented by the demon controlling him._

_As for Tsuzuki: For me, the anime series presented no evidence of any love for him on Muraki's part – to me, it seemed like all he wanted was to eventually use Tsuzuki to exact his revenge and was prepared to make it seem as though he loved him. He certainly lusted after him, so I carried this state of affairs into my story. For now, all Muraki feels for Tsuzuki is lust. He enjoys teasing him and will not pass up any chance to bed him. He likes beautiful things, possessing them, and to him, Tsuzuki is just another beautiful doll to possess and play with.__I hope this makes things clearer for you. We shall have to wait and see in future chapters whether Muraki gets delivered from the hold of the demon, whether he survives, and if he does, whether he will be able to fall in love again…_

_Chazmy, Sweetheart, I don't want Muraki to die either!__Now, on to part 10. Hope you all enjoy! - TGO_

* * *

"_There is no forgiveness for one such as me! What did you do with my mortal body? Oh no, no! Oh gods, listen to me! Tell them not to bury it in the earth… no ground should be allowed to hold the vessel of my black soul! The earth around it will rot and turn irreversibly foul! Make it disappear! Cast a spell to ensure that it ceases to exist."_

"_The same must be done to my soul, for no fires of hell and no pure light of heaven can ever purify it! Destroy my soul and forever curse the name of Asato Tsuzuki!"_

* * *

**_Love and darkness_**

**_Part 10_**

**_Asato Tsuzuki and Kazutaka Muraki: Awakenings_**

The gloved hand of the Celestial Emperor strokes the feathers of his pet falcon, perched on his left arm. The bird turns its hooded head at the sound of its master's deep voice, the round brown eyes in its head alert and focusing on the serene face.

"Are you ready, my friend?"

The ruler of the heavens raises his arm, sheathed in a gauntlet, and the falcon lifts off to soar and swoop towards a flock of birds. The emperor does not have to wait long for his bird's return. Flapping its wings and squealing, it hovers before its master, its prey trapped by one of its claws. A gentle hand removes the trembling creature and places it in the hands of his companion, the woman who stands next to him. While she speaks soothingly to the tiny bird, calming the racing of its heart, her consort praises his pet, offering it a piece of persimmon as its reward.

"What will you do with your present, my lady?"

His consort laughs. The sound of her laughter swells her husband's heart with love. "Since it's not a nightingale, I will let it go, my love." He watches her opening her hands to release the sparrow. "Fly free, little one."

"Perhaps next time, my friend here will bring you a nightingale that can sing for you."

"Perhaps, my lord." She offers her companion a warm smile, and the couple gazes into each other's eyes, reaffirming their love for each other.

A rushing of massive wings flapping close by interrupts their sojourn in the celestial plains and alarms the falcon.

The heavenly monarch grabs a hold of its tether to stop the frenzied flapping of its wings and settles it on his arm, petting and reassuring his pet. "There, there, it's only Nagi. He won't eat you, my friend." The royal couple of the heavens turn to see the Supreme Celestial Enforcer, coming to land in front of them, before dropping to one knee, bowing his head reverentially.

"What brings you here to frighten my falcon, Nagi?"

"Forgive me, my lord, but your son Isao asks to speak with you concerning an extremely urgent matter," answers the king's right-hand man in quiet, respectful tones.

A pall of sadness descends on the face of the Queen as she sees her husband turn away, seemingly unconcerned, to coo at the feathered creature on his arm and commencing to stroke its back. Sighing, she addresses the enforcer. "Thank you, Nagi. Leave us now."

Nagi bows his head once more as his gigantic wings unfold and lift, spreading to their full span. "Yes, my lady." He hesitates, and looks at the Empress. "My Queen, Sanae and Masato are with him, and beg his majesty to see him. The fate of Isao's…"

"Your queen gave you a directive to leave us, Nagi. Why are you still here?"

Recoiling from the harsh interruption, the king's chief enforcer stands abruptly to his feet to bow low before his sovereign. "Forgive me for my disobedience, my lord. I shall take my leave now. My lady," Nagi backs away, before ascending, his flight creating powerful currents of air that ruffle the feathers on the falcon's back and stir the silk garments of the heavenly couple.

The empress observes the form of Nagi becoming smaller, as he flies towards the glittering crystal spires and domes of the celestial palace among the layers of clouds in the distance. When he disappears from her sight, she approaches her spouse to place her hand on his arm. "Please, my lord. Why won't you see him? He is suffering deeply…"

Her husband lifts his hand, a frown of longsuffering etched on his face. "He brought it upon himself. In spite of all my warnings…"

"Yes, I know, my love. But… how can you continue to turn your back on him? Don't you care that I suffer with him? Ah! Would that you could be as kind to him, your own son, as you are to your falcon!"

"Hmmph. My falcon, I would have you know, has never disobeyed me!"

"My lord! I love you and will always love you. But do you love me as much? I truly doubt it, husband, when you seem not to care about how I feel. Was… was it so wrong for him to love? That was his sin, was it not, to have fallen in love?"

"Ah, here it is again. The old quarrel, dividing us…"

"Yes, it divides us, because you will not soften your heart towards Isao. You softened it for Masato, and your niece, and gave her your amulet for her child…"

"Don't you understand, my lady? I expected more from him, as you say, my own son! Hmmph, he has proved himself to be nothing more than a weak-willed…"

"My lord! He is _my_ son too! Please do not insult him to my face! By insulting him, you insult me!"

The emperor spins to face his queen, his sky blue eyes flashing. At the sight of her tears, he relents, the frown lines on his face disappearing at once. Signaling to one of his attendants standing at a respectful distance away from the pair to approach him, he hands his falcon over to his servant's charge. Drawing his consort close to him to embrace her, he whispers, "Shhh, don't cry, my beloved. I am sorry for my words…"

"Please my lord," the empress' lavender eyes, misty with more tears, seek her husband's face, his tortured eyes, "I beg you to see him. You can't just go on pretending that nothing happened… please, my love…"

The king sighs raggedly, pulling his distressed wife into his arms once more, hands tenderly stroking her back. "As you wish, my love. Come, let us return to the palace."

* * *

In a small, cluttered office located in a building housing the Ministry of Hades' Tokyo liaison agents, also known as 'Earth Sweepers', Daisuke Seki raises his head to glance at the two Shinigami entering the room.

The harried young sweeper greets Tsuzuki and Kurosaki, his fingers still typing furiously on his keyboard. "Back so soon, you two?"

Hisoka nods curtly while Tsuzuki flops facedown on the worn couch. "Yep. Anything yet, Daisuke?" asks Hisoka, while filling two mugs with tea.

"Not yet, guys. And you, no luck either?"

The young Shinigami shakes his head, placing a filled mug on the table in front of the couch. "Nope. It's close to impossible to locate him with empathic powers in Tokyo. The city is just too populated; there's too much interference. He certainly chose the right place to hide out in."

A muffled grunt of frustration issues from the figure stretched out on the sofa. Tsuzuki turns his head, pinning a single eye on Daisuke. "Credit card transactions?"

"None yet… amazing, huh? Either this guy has lots of hard cash to spend, or he can conjure up money as well…"

"Very funny, Daisuke." Tsuzuki rises, shifts his position to a sprawl while pulling off his rumpled necktie.

Daisuke grins and shrugs, watching a tight-faced Tsuzuki flinging the tie to a corner of the couch. "I did manage to find out that before he nabbed you last year, he resigned from his position at Tokyo General."

The elder of the two Shinigami winces, embarrassed at learning that the sweeper has heard of his capture by Muraki the previous year. Resentful of the fact that Daisuke's colleagues are prone to casting curious glances in his direction, he scowls.

As if sensing the Shinigami's discomfiture, Daisuke smiles at him. "Don't worry about it, Tsuzuki-san. You mustn't mind how everyone reacts to you; you see, you're something of a celebrity around here," Daisuke pauses to chuckle at Tsuzuki's rolling eyes. "We sweepers are somewhat envious of you Shinigami; the work we do is dreadfully boring, compared to what you guys do. In fact, many sweepers are on the waiting list for transfers to the Shinigami Division," he states, shifting his glance to a seemingly disinterested Hisoka, slouched against a wall sipping his tea.

"Is that so?" asks the youth. "Are you among those on the waiting list, Daisuke?"

"You bet!"

Tsuzuki reaches for the mug on the table. "A word of advice, kid. Sometimes 'boring' is better than…"

A series of beeps from one of the computer consoles surrounding the agent cuts off the Shinigami's sentence as Daisuke spins around and propels his swivel chair to the monitor behind him. "Bingo, gentlemen! It looks like the good doctor has just used his credit card."

Tsuzuki is instantly on his feet, dashing to the sweeper's side. "Where?!"

"Hold ya horses, will ya, and quit breathing down my neck!" The agent's fingers move in a blur over the keys, bringing up a series of windows on the monitor.

"Come on, come on," breathes Tsuzuki through gritted teeth.

"Give me a sec, geez… okay, here it is."

Swiftly memorizing the location flashing on a map displayed on the monitor, Tsuzuki addresses his partner peering at the screen. "Wait here, Hisoka. Leave this to me. Your presence will only rankle Muraki…"

"But…"

"No buts," Tsuzuki's tone is serious, matching his expression. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon. Wait for me here; don't go back to the hotel room. If everything goes according to what I have planned, I'll need to use the room."

"Tsuzuki, what…?"

"Gotta go now, Hisoka," he reassures with a smile, his form becoming transparent, before fading completely.

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir." The young convenience store clerk bows. "I'm afraid you can't use your credit card for just a pack of cigarettes. There's a minimum amount requirement. Could you please pay with cash? The woman's cheeks redden as she hastily lowers her eyes, quavering from the steady scrutiny of her tall, handsome customer. "I'm sorry," she repeats, "the store manager…"

A graceful hand rises, the gesture accompanying the sensuous, deep voice. "It's quite alright, I understand, Miss." The clerk watches as hands delve into pockets, searching for money. Broad shoulders eventually shrug, and the young woman sees an apologetic smile, a silver eye twinkling, its color lightening and sparkling like a magical gemstone.

Kazutaka Muraki broadens his smile. _No problem. Just a matter of affecting a simple spell…_

The woman's eyes become glazed over, eyelids drooping. She begins to speak in a soft, whispering voice, "It's alright… I can make an exception…"

Something about her makes Kazutaka pause and he releases her mind.

Her voice, her words echo in his mind, "It's alright, it's alright…"

Time seems to stop for the man and the woman, as their eyes remain locked to each other's. A faint memory, and a sense of nostalgia washes through his mind: he glimpses a very young boy, sobbing, sitting on his haunches, grimacing from the pain of his skinned, bleeding knees… looking up to see her running towards him, calling to him, "It's alright, it's alright, come here, my Kazutaka…" Being held, pressed against her bosom, his nose buried in soft, sweet-smelling hair… her soothing voice quieting his sobs, "Shh, don't cry, my little angel…"

Kazutaka's natural eye blinks, shuts tightly, squeezing tears from it. His body quivers as he fights a desire to fall at the feet of the young clerk, pull her down for him to lay his head against her, to be rocked there in her arms, to weep there, while her hands stroke his hair, chasing away his sorrow…

His lips move, he hears his own words, "Don't leave me again, stay with me…"

The jingling of the bell on the door of the shop shakes the pair out of their reverie, both of their heads turning simultaneously towards the person standing in front of the counter, a middle-aged man with thinning, graying hair. Kazutaka hears the woman's voice, inflected with surprise. "Father? Why… have you come…?"

"Hello, Saiyuri. I was working late, so I thought I'd come by to pick you up. Your shift is finishing soon, right? We can walk home together." His affectionate smile lifts his cheeks, narrowing his eyes to slits.

"Ah, yes, okay, but… can you wait for me, I have a customer, and Aiko isn't here yet…"

"Oh, of course," Saiyuri's father turns to Kazutaka to bow. "Please excuse me for the interruption. I will wait for you outside, Saiyuri," he finishes with another smile at his daughter.

When the girl turns to look at her customer, she sees him wiping quickly at tears streaking his cheek and averts her eyes, her heart filled suddenly with compassion for him. "Sir, what was it you… ah, yes, cigarettes…"

"Please let me have a carton, Miss, and… that bottle of cognac… it's not my favorite brand, but, oh well, it will have to do," Kazutaka points at the locked liquor cabinet behind the girl. "No problems with using my card now, I trust?"

"Not at all, sir," answers Saiyuri cheerfully, as she unlocks the cabinet. After she hands the receipt and bagged purchases to him, she smiles and waves to her father, standing on the pavement outside the store window. Kazutaka's gaze flits from her to the man waving back at her. "My dear father thinks I'm still a child." The girl giggles. "It can be a little exasperating at times, the way he overprotects me," she says, without malice in her tone, her smile lighting up her dark brown eyes, a smile that makes Kazutaka's heart miss a beat, makes the ends of his lips curl upwards.

"He is right to worry about your safety; after all, there is a dangerous killer stalking the streets. The love of a parent is irreplaceable. Treasure it while you have it."

Something about this stranger before her melts Saiyuri's heart. The smile gracing his lips quickly vanishes as she stares at him, the dour, almost tragic expression marking his face when he first stood before her returning. "Yes, I will, sir. Thank you."

Kazutaka dips his head, his pale bangs falling boyishly over the face in Saiyuri's sight. "I wish you a pleasant evening. Goodnight, Miss."

"Goodnight, sir."

Kazutaka Muraki lingers on the pavement, reluctant to leave. He turns his head to glance at Saiyuri once more, watching her remove her striped apron, chatting animatedly with the young man who entered the shop after he made his exit. He doesn't know why, but he desperately wants to see her smile again, and in a moment, he is granted his wish. Closing the door of the store behind her, Saiyuri sees him standing there and smiles at him before stepping quickly on dainty feet towards her waiting father.

Walking beside her father, she turns to glance back at the white-clad figure, surprised to find him still standing outside the shop, watching them. Spontaneously, she waves at him and sees his arm rising to wave back at her.

"A regular customer, is he?"

"No, father. I've never seen him before… but…"

"But what, Saiyuri?"

"Well, it's quite strange, but I feel like I've met him before…"

Saiyuri's father chuckles. "He certainly looked very refined. Don't tell me you're…?"

The girl looks at her father's expectant, teasing expression and gasps, blushing. "Father! It… it isn't like that! After all, I'm very much in love with Toshiro… it was just that he seemed so sad, like… he lost someone he loved very much…" Saiyuri stops walking, turns her face upward to gaze at the night sky, an ache of wistfulness gripping her heart.

"Hmm, that's my daughter, always so compassionate…"

"He said something…"

"Yes?"

Saiyuri squeezes her father's arm. "Never mind… I haven't told you in a long time, father… I love you…"

* * *

His signature white clothes are glaring beacons, his long unbuttoned overcoat fluttering behind him as he walks, weaving his way slowly among the swiftly moving stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

The tails of his black trench coat flapping, Asato Tsuzuki swoops downwards, descending like a great bird of prey, unseen by mortal eyes. He glides above his quarry, his eyes honed in on the head of silvery hair. The Shinigami halts to hover when Kazutaka Muraki stops mid-stride to lean against a lamppost. The doctor remains there, still and slouching, for a span of five minutes. Tsuzuki, nerves wrung tight, grits his teeth.

_Not the perfect place to nab him, too many people about. I'll just have to keep following him and wait for the right moment…_

While he waits, he strengthens the spell cloaking his presence from Muraki and adjusts his binocular vision, zooming in on the doctor's face. The guardian is taken aback, surprised by what he sees.

_What's this? He looks so sad, almost as if he's about to cry… just like he did when I first met him in that Nagasaki church… get it together, Tsuzuki! You were fooled then so don't be duped again! Who's to say he already knows I'm here and has something up his sleeve?_

The Shinigami's emotions are in a state of flux, compassion welling in him for the man in his sight, warring with his grim determination of not being robbed of his chance of performing his task of subduing him long enough to breach the fortress founded on darkness, to reach the being trapped underneath the layers of rage, hatred and sorrow.

_Judging from his demeanor, I doubt that bastard demon is within him… he seems so vulnerable, and… lost… a lost soul… No. Not if I have anything to say about it._

He watches a tremulous hand light a cigarette, placing them between lips to pull on it deeply. His conscience hurls questions at him, and for once in his before-and-afterlife, the guardian of death wishes he smoked too, as his agitation heightens -

_So, why do you care so much about him?_

_It's what I do, I'm a Shinigami, I'm in the soul rescue business, and this guy's soul is in need of rescuing…_

_Yeah, okay, but you seem to be taking this particular case rather personally. You're deliberately disobeying orders – you should be alerting the Chief or Tatsumi right about now, and you're acting on your own, without a partner. You're gonna get your ass kicked. What's up, pal?_

_Nothing's up! I-I can't tell them, not yet. They wouldn't understand, they don't know what this guy's been through… he doesn't deserve to be sacrificed just like that, just to get rid of that nameless whatever bottom-dwelling scum! It's like being executed without a trial…_

_How do you know they won't understand? What makes you so sure about that? You've known them a long time; don't you have any trust in them at all?_

_Well, it's not that I don't trust them… it's the King of Hades… the king himself has spoken… Konoe and Tatsumi will have to follow orders too…_

_Oh, come on, the king has always been fair, hasn't he? Besides, he has something of a soft spot for you, just like a certain someone at the hall of candles… _

_Give me a break already! I just can't take any chances. I must have something to bargain with, in case they don't agree to let him off, give him a chance… I've got to reach him somehow… he has to want to break free, and then… just maybe… they'd agree to spare his life… no, I'll make them, I'll do anything it takes…_

_Ah, I see. And you still insist nothing's going on. Well, well, is it something… you don't want to face, perhaps?_

_I would do this for anyone…_

_That's true, I believe you… but you're ready to put your life on the line for this one… aren't you?_

_Yes. Yes, I am._

_Hmm, you didn't even hesitate there. Just came right out with it, guns blazing and all…_

_Arrgh! I've got work to do!_

Feeling the heat of his flush, Tsuzuki checks his pockets, making sure all the accoutrements he needs for the job ahead of him are all there, within easy reach. His pursuit begins again when Muraki stubs out his cigarette in the ash receptacle like an exemplary citizen and starts walking, his pace faster this time.

* * *

The emperor of heaven strides swiftly into his receiving hall and acknowledges the deep bows of Sanae and Masato. After gesturing to them to leave him alone with his son, the monarch turns to see Isao, his firstborn, on his knees, his head bowed low, supplicant hands joined above the crown of his head.

"Father, forgive your errant son who is unworthy of standing in your presence…"

The voice, quavering from misery and apprehension is cut short. Large hands grasp his arms to pull him up to stand and into the arms of his father.

"No, my son, it is I who must beg forgiveness from you," the emperor's hand strokes his son's head, a head covered by thick white hair.

Isao's heart swells with joy at being embraced by his father, a gesture he has long pined for, and tentatively moves his hands to hold his parent. "No, father, I deserved your judgment, I…"

"Isao, my beloved son, it is enough, more than enough, you have been suffering a great deal. Perhaps my judgment and punishment have been overly harsh, but I… we've been through all that, haven't we? Now is not the time to rake it all up, but time to turn our attentions to more pressing matters."

Isao leans into his father's embrace, giving way to tears. "Thank you, father… I fear greatly for him…"

The king sighs heavily. "He may have been born of a mortal woman, but he is yours… and therefore… mine…"

Father and son remain locked in their embrace, the king weeping tears of regret, the prince shedding tears of joy at being back in the grace of his father, his desperation momentarily allayed.

* * *

Odors of stale cigarette smoke, heady colognes, and the sharp scents of alcohol assault Asato Tsuzuki's nostrils. Having pursued Muraki into a dimly lit bar, the Shinigami sits, facing the doctor seated at the opposite curve of the elliptical bar counter. He watches Muraki throwing back his first, second, third glass of bourbon. The doctor's hands are still unsteady, contents of the bottle sloshing on to the counter as he pours it into his tumbler for the fourth time.

_Something's very wrong… this is not the man I last encountered. I don't know what's up with you, but things couldn't be more right for me, Muraki… at least you're not out somewhere murdering some poor mortals… the more drunk you get, the better it will be for me._

Noting that the other patrons of the establishment are providently ensconced in booths or seated at tables situated in more shadowy areas of the pub, glinting amethysts observe as spectacles are removed and stashed into an inner jacket pocket, the long white coat is shed and slung carelessly over the paper bag perched on the stool next to Muraki. A cigarette is lit while the bartender cleans up the spilled liquor fastidiously, replacing the soaked coaster beneath Muraki's glass; an intimidating silver eye sends the barkeep scurrying away, returning to his other tasks, leaving the doctor to alternately raise his ever-replenished glass and cigarette to his lips.

Prepared to wait patiently while Muraki doggedly increases the level of his intoxication, the guardian's eyes roam leisurely, over hair of uncommon color, to defined cheekbones and jaw line, to throat, revealed as Tsuzuki gazes, by the doctor's increasingly sluggish movements, loosening his tie and unfastening the topmost button of his crisp white shirt. The Shinigami smirks.

_I have to admit, you are one hell of a looker, in spite of your less than immaculate appearance. What are you anyway? Late thirties, early forties? Hmph, I never felt inclined to confirm your age because you were such a goddamned thorn in my side… _

Tsuzuki stiffens when the object of his scrutiny stands to his feet, raking a hand through his hair, clearly displaying his artificial eye for some seconds before turning to walk away from the bar counter.

_Restroom visit? Perfect!_

After glancing at the bartender's head to confirm that the man is still squatting, busy arranging glasses on the shelves, Tsuzuki makes his way to the stool recently vacated by the doctor. Removing a minute vial from one of his pockets and twisting its cap open, the Shinigami tips its contents into Muraki's tumbler. He watches the powder dissolve, wincing.

_Hate to do this to you, Muraki, but I don't think this concoction will hurt you much. I just need you to be a little more pliant and less inclined to be such a pain in the ass._

His heart rate increasing with each passing second, Tsuzuki slips back to his post to await the doctor's reappearance. He does not have long to wait. Muraki settles back on his seat, at once reaching for his drink to gulp it in one go, immediately refilling his glass. With another toss of his head, the bourbon slides down Muraki's throat.

_Very good, Muraki. It won't be long now…_

The arrestingly beautiful face in the Shinigami's sight is vacant, slack-jawed, eyelid drooping, head starting to loll, hands fumbling for his wallet. Tsuzuki watches the man dazedly signing the transaction slip, rising to sway and don his overcoat with difficulty, inserting an arm into the wrong sleeve on his first attempt. Lurching to the exit on unsteady legs, Muraki at last steps out of the bar, shadowed closely by Tsuzuki.

* * *

"Here I am, my lord."

At a signal from the king of heaven, Nagi rises, dipping his head to acknowledge the king's son, Isao.

"Nagi, you will accompany my son, and Masato to Hades. I don't think it would be wise to summon the king here – he's rather sensitive about interference in what is rightfully his sphere of authority. As such, it would be best if Isao delivers this letter for his consideration."

"But, father, what if he refuses…?"

"Isao, the king of hell is a reasonable man, an exemplary ruler. I have great respect for him, and I trust him. Asato Tsuzuki's case clearly demonstrated his fairness and compassion."

The monarch whispers in his son's ear. "Don't worry, my child, I will do everything I can to save him."

* * *

Checking his appearance in a mirror on his desk, Seiichiro Tatsumi fusses with the knot of his necktie.

Konoe rolls his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Tatsumi! Let's get a move on already! I swear, sometimes you're worse than a woman…"

"My apologies, chief. It always pays to look one's best when appearing before the king, you know," interjects the secretary smoothly.

"Especially for a self-serving corporate ladder-climber such as you," mutters the chief under his breath.

"I beg your pardon, chief?"

Chief Konoe withers under Tatsumi's intense gaze. "Er… nothing. I was just… wondering what's taking that dessert-scoffing Shinigami and the kid so long…"

"Don't be too hard on them, chief, they're doing their best," soothes the secretary, an indulgent smile gracing his lips.

"Oh yeah? Well, try telling the king that, Tatsumi! I'm pretty sure we're gonna get toasted!"

In the long corridor leading to the king of the underworld's court, Tatsumi stops in his tracks, wincing and doubling over, covering his ears with his hands.

"What's the matter now, Tatsumi?" Konoe glares at his subordinate impatiently.

"Garrgh! Wha-what in hell is that? I-I feel sick, chief…"

"Pull yourself together, man! We'll be late! Besides, I'm counting on you to bail me out with that glib tongue of yours in case the king decides to get crotchety…"

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but… there's a booming sound… like bass drums in my head… it… it's awful, what's happening to me…?"

The frown lines on Konoe's face smoothen as he grasps the reason for Tatsumi's discomfort. "Ah. This would be your first time, Tatsumi. Probably, there are deities from heaven about," he states, glancing at the huge, black double doors, "and most likely, they're in the king's court. What you're hearing is the combined sound of their heartbeats, rather different from our king's, more… frightening, don't you think, Tatsumi?"

Smirking at the man slumped against the wall, his face a pale shade of green, for once incapable of speech, Konoe is secretly pleased, almost gleeful that something has managed to ruffle his infuriatingly imperturbable assistant. "You'll get used to it. Come on." The older man stalks ahead towards the entrance to the king's hall, greeting the pair of formidable-looking, black-clad sentries stationed there. Tatsumi straightens and struggles to catch up with his boss, gasping and mopping up the sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief.

* * *

An hour has passed since he laid his captive on the bed in his hotel room and sat back, listening to every whimper and whisper, soft cries of torment that stabbed at the Shinigami's heart.

Seated on a chair drawn close to the bed, Asato Tsuzuki watches the eyelid beneath a white eyebrow flutter. When a tear trickles across Muraki's temple, the tip of his finger catches it.

Staring at the glistening drop, while his own tears leak from his eyes, the angel of death whispers his vow: "I will not let you die before you have had a chance to weep tears of joy, at least once… I promise you this, Kazutaka Muraki."

He moves to the window, to stand and stare out of it, looking at nothing. His body shudders, his thoughts are churning, spinning, as a battle begins inside the Shinigami.

Something he has kept shackled, hidden deep within the dungeons of his soul, is threatening to break free, to run free, wild and roaring with the rage of a hungry beast that has been denied of what it so desperately needs to give and receive, to never rest, to relentlessly seek and claim what it desires – the one thing that can bury the pain and heal the Shinigami's wounds…

_Why am I so afraid of it? Is it because… if I let it out, I could be hurt again, if he does not…?_ _No! Can't lose control, not now! Focus! Don't release the beast… if it does not find its mate, I'll go mad…_

Tsuzuki turns, looks over at the horizontal form of the doctor, at his shifting head, its pale visage turning to face the Shinigami. The powerful chest rises and falls, releasing soft sighs of sleeping breath. The exquisite face is in peaceful repose now; all the lines of distress etched on it earlier are gone. Impulsively, Tsuzuki moves to sit on the bed beside his prisoner.

Placing his face close to Muraki's, the Shinigami registers the rapid movement of the eyeball beneath the closed eyelid. He resists the temptation to penetrate the doctor's mind, to enter his dream with a tendril of his own mind, but gives in to his need to touch the strands of white and silver hair. A lock of it captured by his caressing fingers, he vividly remembers how soft this very same hair had felt against his cheek when he had found himself locked, caught in Muraki's arms on board the Queen Camellia.

A drawn-out, deep sigh soughs out between parted lips, rosy from drink, and another tear seeps from the closed eye.

"Kazutaka… how sorrowful your dream must be… ah, if only… do you know how hard I have fought… to suppress my feelings for you? Do you know how much I have wanted to make you mine? I… love you, yes… I love you! I can say it now, free all the love for you bound in my heart, I can't control it anymore… I'll find you, you, the true Kazutaka Muraki, waiting to be set free… dare I even hope that someday… you and I…"

Asato Tsuzuki leans down, bringing his lips within a hair's breadth of the doctor's, allowing the warm breath of the slumbering man to caress his lips, as he gazes at the flushed skin of Muraki's cheeks.

_Looking at you like this, it's difficult to believe I'm looking at the face of a wanton killer._

A deep sorrow bears down on the guardian's heart. "How ironic… the awakening of my love for you will meet your awakening, yet to come… how I wish I could spare you from what lies ahead, from what you must face… but, I can't… you must meet it head on – your awakening to awareness, your awakening to true horror – more sorrow awaits you, Kazutaka, I… I should know. I've been there, to a place far worse than Hell. The weight of your guilt will come crashing down on you… there will be no place to run, no where to hide… but you must face it, you must bear it, because in facing it you will take accountability for your sins, paving the way for you to be filled with the desire to be penitent, and eventually, if you can, to forgive yourself…"

Hot tears roll down Tsuzuki's cheeks as his consciousness revisits a chapter of his past –

"_No! Get out! Keep away! Don't come near me! Don't touch me, don't soil your hands on me. I am filth, corrupt and monstrous! _

"_There is no forgiveness for one such as me! What did you do with my mortal body? Oh no, no! Oh gods, listen to me! Tell them not to bury it in the earth; no ground should be allowed to hold the vessel of my black soul! The earth around it will rot and turn irreversibly foul! Make it disappear, cast a spell to ensure that it ceases to exist._

"_The same must be done to my soul, for no fires of hell and no pure light of heaven can ever purify it! Destroy my soul and forever curse the name of Asato Tsuzuki! Ah, do it now, please! I beg you! Give me oblivion… ah gods, I can still see their faces… I can still hear their cries of agony… give me oblivion… oblivion…_

"_Nowhere for me to run, nowhere for me to hide, ah, I cannot bear it…!"_

A sob chokes the Shinigami's throat as he sees himself, cowering in his gray cotton robe, yelling himself hoarse. He remembers being told that he had kept it up for almost a year, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Voiceless, his mouth still moved as his silent, bitter screams of self-condemnation issued from his throat. In desperation, his Keeper, Counselor and Advocate had appealed to the King of Hades for help…

Tsuzuki gasps reflexively at the silver eye cracking open, widening, staring at him, its gaze then darting around the room. He moves away quickly, wiping the tears from his face, and settles back in his chair.

The doctor's body stirs, attempts to rise, but cannot, due to the restraints around his wrists and ankles, tethering his limbs, without undue discomfort, to the bedposts. Chuckling half-heartedly, Muraki slurs, "Shuzhuki-san? Hargh! You didun havta go to this length… heh, if you wanted me so badly, you only had to shay sho, I woulduv said yesh." The groggy man's giggles sound scratchy and hoarse. "Didun know an angel of death could be… fond… of thish short of thing, but, I would be happy to be of service to you," the doctor's dry chuckle swells to full-blown laughter, only to end in a coughing fit.

Tsuzuki suppresses the smile threatening to quirk his lips while he pours water into a glass from a pitcher. Settling himself beside Muraki to support his head, he brings the glass close to the doctor's mouth. "Here, drink this." Muraki swallows the cool water thirstily, some of the liquid dribbling from the corners of his lips. The Shinigami's gentle hand dabs the doctor's lips and chin with his handkerchief, keeping his face impassive as he returns to his chair.

"Thank you. Hmm, judging from the expression on your face, I don't think I'm going to get laid… So, Tsuzuki-san, would you care to tell me why you have me all trussed up like this…? Ugh… these ropes aside, I can barely move… ah, you've given me a muscle relaxant, right? Smart move, Shinigami! And, I see you're not taking any chances either, hence these particular restraints. Clever!" Muraki grins maliciously and squints at the blue rope binding his left wrist. "Hah! Not just any old rope this… I can tell you know," he rasps, quirking his eyebrow. "Hate to disappoint you, sweet lover, but I could cut them with my powers if I wanted to, but, I just can't be bothered… or maybe I'm just hoping you'll change your mind and… well, you just might feel inclined to do something about my hard-on… Ow! Being tied up like this by you is terribly stimulating, ahhhh…" the doctor's eye closes, he hisses, his body writhes, giving into the sensations of arousal coursing through his body. "I'll go along with it, I promise I won't break the ropes, I'll let you have full control… ahhhh, please… what do you say? Strip for me, I want to see you naked, come on, you can do anything you want to me…" A red tongue slides slowly over lips, lips pouting with lust.

The man on the chair remains silent, face inscrutable, a crease between his dark eyebrows, eyes refusing to move from his captive's face to the man's groin, where Muraki's erection tents his trousers. Finished with his teasing, the doctor turns his eye on his captor. "Tsk! You're no fun at all! If you don't want to fuck me, then what the hell do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, Muraki."

"Huh?" A sound of disbelief extends to helpless giggling. "Talk? What about, Shinigami? Let's see now, what could we possibly talk about? Are you serious?"

Muraki's strident laughter reverberates through the narrow space of the hotel room. When

his amusement is spent, he turns his face to Tsuzuki's, the heat of lust blazing in the molten silver of his iris. "Tell you what, how about you fuck me, deep and hard, both ways, then you can talk all you want…" Muraki loses himself in his desires, squirming and panting wantonly, and does not see the Shinigami retrieve something from his pocket.

"Muraki."

"What? What is it, Shinigami? What's your answer? No fuck, no talk…"

"Do you remember this, Muraki?" Tsuzuki pushes his hand close to the doctor, who turns his head to squint at the shiny object resting on the Shinigami's palm.

"Eh? What is that?"

"Look closely… remember, Muraki… who did this belong to?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Here, let me help you remember." The Shinigami lifts the lid of the silver box, displaying its contents. As the doctor gapes, Tsuzuki uncovers the wisps of fine, white hair.

Muraki's head lifts; his silver eye blinks several times before widening in shock. "Mother…"

Tsuzuki sighs in response to his captor's single, whispered word. _Now it can begin. The first step to reaching you…_

The atmosphere in the room begins to alter, becoming charged with the same sorrow the Shinigami experienced in the house in Arashiyama, assaulting his senses. But this time, its intensity is significantly increased, horrifying, powerful enough to paralyze and knock him unconscious. Recoiling, Tsuzuki puts up his mental shields as the features on Muraki's face twist viciously, a feral growl rumbling in his throat. As the Shinigami gapes in horror, the binds around his limbs snap all at once catching him off guard. Before Tsuzuki can react, the doctor is up and lunging for him, hands lashing out for the Shinigami's neck. The chair topples over and Tsuzuki lands heavily on his back with Muraki's full weight on top of him. The fingers of the man pinned beneath the enraged doctor claw uselessly at the hands circling his neck, attempting to break Muraki's unyielding grip.

"Damn you! You… thwarted my plans, Shinigami! If not for what you did, I could have saved her!"

Tsuzuki splutters, gagging, the chokehold tightens; his fingernails scrabble and tear the skin on the doctor's hands, drawing blood. Paying no heed to his efforts, Muraki snarls.

"You… you are to blame for the loss of her soul! I'll make you pay… I'll throttle your immortal breath out of you! I'll crush you to your second death, your final death! Die! Die! Don't fool yourself into believing I can't do it!"

Tsuzuki's hands fall away, his arms flop to the floor. Making a great effort to speak, his words spew in hoarse, choked whispers. "Do it… if taking my life will give you any comfort, Muraki, you can have it… will it…? Will it put an end to your sorrow…? Answer… me… truthfully… will it?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Don't try and preach to me!"

"Listen… to me… Muraki… her soul is not… lost… I have proof… in my… jacket pocket… you… were deceived… by that…"

The pressure of the powerful hands increase around the guardian's neck. "You lie! You're lying to save yourself! You disgust me!"

On the verge of blacking out, the sight of Muraki's face – a mask of pure hatred - blurring, Tsuzuki curses himself.

_Shit! I've screwed up… again… no… can't give in… he'll be lost… if I lose this fight… no choice now… I've… got… to use it… damn it all… I swore I'd never ever use it again… but… there's too much at stake…_

Reaching with his mind to deep within the core of his being to unlock the power, the Herculean strength he fought so hard to forget he possesses, the Shinigami wills it to rampage through his body.

Straddling Tsuzuki, Muraki eyes widen in shock as his hands detect the surge of power coursing through the Shinigami's body. Without any warning, he is knocked off by a blow to the side of his head, sending him crashing against the wall. The guardian of death is instantly on his feet and reaching for the doctor's sprawled body. Pulling him up by the lapels of his jacket, intense self-loathing sickens Tsuzuki at the sight of the gash on the left side of Muraki's face and head, at the blood pouring from it, soaking his collars, but he fights it and summons his courage to continue as the eye of the stunned man finds him.

"Damn you," sputters the bleeding man, before his fist smashes into Tsuzuki's face, whipping his head backwards cruelly to the sickening sound of bones splintering. The Shinigami stands his ground, hands grabbing Muraki's neck. His hair is caught and yanked, a vicious head-butt bashing against Tsuzuki's forehead, again cracking bone, sends him slamming against the wall, finally separating the pair of bloodied Titans.

Muraki, teeth flashing, his hands out like claws, poised to launch himself at the Shinigami, is stopped by his soft voice. "We can keep this up all night if you want, Muraki, or, you can read this."

Ignoring the excruciating pain and the throb in his head, Tsuzuki, blood gushing from his nostrils, removes a folded sheet of paper from an inner jacket pocket and holds it in front of him. "I checked the records. She was reincarnated, twenty years ago, Muraki… your mother… she's right here in Tokyo… she's a college student… it's all here, see for yourself… whatever I may be, Muraki, I'm not a liar… I know you're afraid, I understand it all too well, Muraki. You're afraid of the truth… you've lived in sorrow, believing her soul was lost, you've lived in darkness for so long it's all you know… you were seduced, deceived, used, by that despicable demon."

Approaching the still form of Kazutaka Muraki, the blood on his pale hair glistening, rooted to where he stands, the Shinigami reaches for his hand and places the document in it, sees it tremble as fingers and thumb curl around the edge of it. He watches the man, staring at the floor, swallowing, jaw muscles working.

"What… what is her name?"

Tsuzuki starts at the quiet voice; it is strangely subdued, almost unrecognizable, the timbre of it lacks the callous, sardonic quality he has grown so accustomed to hearing.

_There you are, Kazutaka Muraki. I've found you._

Raising his eyes to Muraki's face, cringing at the injury he inflicted upon the face he loves, he hesitates, heartsick, all too aware of what awaits the man before him.

"Saiyuri… Saiyuri Tanaka." At the Shinigami's whispered answer, the doctor lets out a long, ragged sigh.

Asato Tsuzuki, wiping some of the blood on his face on his sleeve, bends to pick up the silver box on the floor by the bed. Returning to Muraki's side, he hands it to him, his eyes meeting the glazed, single eye. The doctor pockets the box and re-folded document silently and straightens.

The bewildered face, childlike in its expression, breaks the Shinigami's heart and his hand twitches, aching to touch; he restrains the arms that yearn to embrace, comfort, protect. Finally liberated, his passion for the man standing so close to him floods through his being, heating his blood. His whisper breaks the silence. "Muraki…"

At the sound, Kazutaka Muraki flinches, snaps out of his daze and turns around abruptly, strides towards the door and leaves without a backward glance.

The angel of death, his clothes and face besmirched with his own and the doctor's blood, throws himself facedown on the bed, pressing his broken nose against the pillow that supported Muraki's head. Trace scents – cigarettes, aftershave and personal essence – left by the man who had lain against the sheet linger. Inhaling whiffs of the unique perfume, Asato Tsuzuki begins to sob uncontrollably. He does not feel the pain of his injuries, but moans from the ache in his heart.

_To be continued_

* * *

_Author's notes:_

'_The beast' in Tsuzuki's heart: Because of his past sins, Tsuzuki has never really forgiven himself. He still thinks of himself as a monster, unworthy of ever being loved. He craves to be loved, to give love, but has denied himself as a form of self-punishment; so 'the beast' refers to the part of the Shinigami that so desperately needs to be loved._

_Yay! At last, Tsuzuki is in love with Muraki! I worked so hard on their encounter in this part to make it heartrending – I hope I have succeeded._


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello all! Big thank-yous to all of you who posted your reviews for chapter 10 – they mean a lot to me. On to the next chapter! I really did want to add more to it, but I didn't realize it had been so long since my last update.. sorry! So I thought I had better post this short chapter. I hope to work harder and faster, wish me luck, you all !_

_**Love and darkness  
Part 11  
Kazutaka Muraki's purgatory and Oriya Mibu's choice**_

He was trapped in a dimension of his own making – a nightmarish place of guilt-induced hallucinations. Cackling specters swooped at him. The foundations of this hellish world tilted, spun crazily, rocking and crumbling as he labored to breathe, forced his legs to move. He stumbled and fell to the ground repeatedly…

After his last fall, he glanced behind him and saw the thing that had caused him to stumble: a corpse! Picking himself up, he turned and saw more dead bodies littering the path ahead of him…

The warm rain that pelted him, pouring from the sky, was red…

The driving wind rushing against his face carried the mournful cries of the ones he had murdered…

Kazutaka Muraki covered his face with his lacerated hands and screamed…

* * *

In the court of the king of the netherworld, the princely deity, Isao, gasps and cries out. Nagi spins on his feet at the sound, but before he can move, Masato is at the prince's side, steadying the swaying, distressed figure. The hard, black eyes of the king flicker to Isao, narrowing. Knitting his brow, he turns his attention back to the parchment in his hands. 

Observing silently from their seats along the wall of the hall, Tatsumi and Konoe exchange puzzled glances. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, the secretary leans closer to his superior, speaking in hushed whispers. "Chief, who are they?"

The one in golden armor is Nagi, the supreme enforcer of the king of heaven. The deity in purple is called Masato; he is brother to the empress, and the one in white is The Snow Prince…"

"The snow prince…?"

Konoe, smiling slightly, replies, "An affectionate sobriquet," while his assistant's eyes, widened in wonderment, take in the form of the splendidly tall deity.

Earlier, Tatsumi had followed Konoe into the court, humbled and apprehensive. Struggling to acclimatize his body and mind to the presence of these powerful beings, his eyes managed to discern a trio of figures, enshrouded by blinding luminescence, exuding intense heat in the usually chilly hall of Hades' monarch. Their auras had flared to blinding levels upon his and his chief's arrival, slowly lessening by degrees after they had been waved to their seats by their sovereign's glare and gesturing, black-gloved hand, allowing the secretary's eyes to gradually make out their appearances but not their faces which remained obscured by the brilliance of their aureoles.

"A most apt nickname," murmurs Tatsumi, sweeping his glance over the prince, clothed in gleaming white vestments, the snow-white hair cascading down his back, almost reaching the black marble floor.

"His name is Isao, firstborn of the celestial emperor," explains Konoe, receiving an awed expression from Tatsumi.

_Firstborn… of the king of heaven… here, in Hades? He seems to be affected by something… what's going on…?_

The puzzled secretary of the summons division, his fingers curling and uncurling from nervous tension, sees the prince lean into the support provided by Masato's encircling arm. A nudge from Konoe interrupts his thoughts. "Look at the king's face… something's brewing… I've a feeling all this has something to do with our notorious Doctor Muraki…" The older man shifts uncomfortably in his seat, sensing a pair of eyes turning to focus on him from within Isao's aureole.

At length, the king sets the papers he has been reading down on his desk, raises his head to glance thoughtfully out of the window on his left while slowly peeling off his gloves.

* * *

He stands beneath the lukewarm spray of water, his body shuddering uncontrollably. Asato Tsuzuki's words reverberate, over and over, in his thoughts.'You were deceived, used… deceived… used…' 

An image of the Shinigami's face, drenched with blood, floats into his vision. Those words had been uttered without triumph, without reproach; no hint of judgment had inflected the soft voice of the man who had suffered from his cruel machinations in the past. His revelation - the truth of his 'master's' deceit had been delivered with sadness, reluctance… and… had he seen tears welling in those anguished, violet eyes?

Once more, Kazutaka Muraki succumbs to a fit of sobbing, guilt and remorse for his crimes stabbing him through to his core, an agonizing, suffocating pain.

Crushed and exhausted, he pronounces the punishment for the atrocities he committed – he, who studied and trained to heal the sick, had unflinchingly cut down the lives of so many, sometimes torturing, raping them sadistically before killing them… all to compensate for his loss, all in the name of his pain…

_I am the embodiment of everything that is unspeakably vile and obscene…  
Let my soul be lost… I deserve no mercy…_

A while later, lean and strong legs step out of the shower stall into the steam-filled bathroom. A steely silver eye, its lids swollen almost to the point of completely shutting it, strains to open and gaze into the mirror above the washbasin, enthralled by the horrific bruise, tints of deep reds, purples, and indigoes darkening the skin on the left side of the misshapen face.

His hand rises, to slide his fingers slowly along the swollen flesh on his cheek, moving to comb through his wet hair. Blood even now oozes from the gaping gash at the side of his skull. Delving into the wound and smearing his fingers with it, he draws them into his mouth, one by one, licking and sucking at the blood on them. He closes his eye, hissing and shuddering, twinges shooting through his spine, down to his toes and blossoming in his chest when he experiences the bizarre sensation, needle point pricks of pain, caused by his flesh beginning to heal. Inside his head, he can hear bone, muscle, nerves and skin regenerating, soft tapping and squelching sounds.

Where others would be filled with shock, disbelief and possibly, fear, at the phenomenon of self-healing, this man is unfazed. He has long since known that he is far from what is known as 'normal'. What surprises him is not the fact that his self-healing powers are consuming his injuries, but the sheer speed with which it is occurring; that, and by the immeasurable amount of strength – both physical and supernatural – simmering, stirring within him, like lava in the bowels of the earth, bubbling and racing erratically, frantically searching for an opening to be released, to gush forth in torrents of hellfire and brimstone. The awareness of this power unfettering is forceful enough to drive him to his knees and tumble sideways and ball up on the damp tiles, crying out, a single roar vented before succumbing to the black wash of unconsciousness…

It is night when he opens his eyes, blinking them in the gloom, shivering slightly from the chilled air of the bathroom; he uncurls his unclothed body and stands to his feet. Stepping on something hard and cold, he withdraws his foot and reaches for the light switch. He bends and picks up the small sphere lying between his feet, bringing it close to his face to examine it, turning it slowly. His puzzlement fades quickly. Shrugging, he discards the object, flinging it into the bin. The cold gaze of a pair of identical silver eyes, framed by white eyelashes, stare back at him when he brings his face, whole, beautiful and perfect again, close to the mirror. Furious, repulsed by the face reflected in the glass, he shatters the mirror with the force of his mind.

* * *

"Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!" 

A hand grasps his shoulder, shaking it urgently. Hisoka's panicked voice calls.

"Wake up! Tsuzuki!"

His heavy eyelids strain to open, closing painfully at the sunlight flooding into the room. "Tsuzuki…? Oh, thank goodness! When Daisuke and I saw Muraki leaving, we thought he had done away with you for good!"

_Muraki!_

Leaping from the bed, disoriented, disheveled, his face and clothes smeared with scabs of dried blood, Asato Tsuzuki runs shaking hands through his dark hair, the events of the previous night hitting him square in his guts.

"Are you badly hurt? Look at all the blood on you… what did he do to you? Let's go back to Meifu, I want Watari to have a look at you…"

Hisoka's voice sounds distant to the Shinigami, who moves slowly to the armchair near the window to pick up the white overcoat draped over it. Bringing it close to him, he hugs it, burying his nose in it, lowering to the floor on his haunches. His young partner kneels in front of his unresponsive form, peering into unfocused eyes. "Hey…?"

Exasperated, the youth reaches for his partner's shoulders, shaking him again. "For god's sake, speak to me… you're scaring me!"

Hisoka's choked cries jolt the older man back into the present. Seeing the youth's tears, he is immediately sorry for making the boy cry. Yanking him into his arms, he holds him tightly, to comfort them both. "I'm such a fuck-up, Hisoka… I didn't handle things well at all… we came to blows…"

The young Shinigami watches his partner touch the coat on his lap, absently worrying at the buttons with his fingers, listening to his account of what transpired the night before, omitting of course, his feelings for Muraki, feelings that had, Tsuzuki is convinced, compromised his actions.

"… I should have gone after him… now I've got to find him again," Tsuzuki ends his narrative dejectedly.

Attempting to console him, Hisoka speaks. "Don't be too hard on yourself; what you managed to accomplish was a feat in itself. As for finding him again, well… I told Daisuke to hare after him and stay on his tail… we freaked out when we saw him in that state, and we feared the worst. I'm relieved you're safe… I felt your pain, I couldn't wait any longer, and Daisuke insisted on tagging along."

"Thank you. It's a good thing Daisuke came with you… I'm sorry I made you worry… I'm such a…"

"Enough of that, Tsuzuki. Let's get back to Meifu now. You look awful."

"My injuries have healed, I'm fine, really. But… I have to see our king, right away…"

"Please tell me you're going to get cleaned up first."

"Huh? Um… right."

The boy is quiet when Tsuzuki stands, folds the long coat meticulously and tucks it under his arm.

* * *

A low hum resonates in the hall where Meifu's sovereign stands close to Isao and Masato. While they engage in telepathic communication that excludes Konoe and his adjutant, the fearsome warrior Nagi stands slightly apart from the group of three. Tatsumi, having regained his composure and confidence, studies his king's face. Set in its usual severity, it gives nothing away. A final nod of his head signals a conclusion to whatever it was they had been discussing, and both Tatsumi and Konoe rise to their feet as the king approaches them, lowering their heads deferentially. 

"I thank you for waiting so patiently," the king addresses the pair in his deep, baritone voice. "Konoe, any word yet from Tsuzuki regarding Muraki?"

"Not yet, Sire, but I'm confident he'll find him soon. I've never seen him so determined…"

Standing behind his superior, Tatsumi, although he cannot see them clearly, becomes aware of the intense interest of the celestial trio in the king's and Konoe's exchange, sensing three pairs of eyes trained on them.

"Hmm… tell me, why didn't you want the Specials division to assist in the mission? I'm positive they would have achieved results by now."

"It was Tsuzuki, m'lord… he wanted to locate Muraki himself, without interference."

"I see. Well, in the light of… recent developments, it seems now to have been the right decision. Urasawa, for all his efficiency, does tend to veer towards extreme measures."

Konoe nods his head in agreement, a cold frisson creeping up his back, chilled from flashbacks of past missions under Masaru Urasawa's command, back when he had been part of the Specials. "Tsuzuki's a good man, Sire. He reminds us all, time and again, never to excise compassion in the execution of our duties…"

The king's rejoinder is prevented by a commotion outside the entrance, a clamoring of the sentries, and above their cries, the ears of the hall's occupants detect another voice, its volume rising in full-blown agitation.

* * *

After pulling on his silk pajamas, Kazutaka Muraki flings himself onto his bed. Through the blaze and tempest of his pain and sorrow, he remembers days and nights of a time cut short, stolen from him, a life he would have been content with – no, a life he would have continually thanked the gods for… he hears the voice of Oriya, tender murmurings, thick and laden with love… yes, once _his_ Oriya, calling his name softly… moving his fingers through his hair… caressing his cheek with his warm, soft lips… falling into the depths of honey-colored eyes as they melted against each other… cried out together… exchanging promises… 

_Why had I become so weak, why had I allowed myself to be deceived…? Why… hadn't I heeded your words…? Oriya! My love… Oriya… I left the blissful haven of your loving arms… oh gods! I allowed him… to use me… to violate you…! For all your love and selfless devotion, that was how I rewarded you…_

Heartsickness, and a profound longing to be swathed by the arms of Oriya Mibu, forgiven by him, soothed and comforted by his eyes, paralyzes him…

He shakes his head miserably, struggles to dispel his yearnings.

_I cannot, must not... go near him, see him, touch him, ever again… but… I need to… to seek his forgiveness… before I put an end to my existence…_

* * *

When the doors swung open and Asato Tsuzuki burst into the room, wild-eyed and panting with the two sentries looking somewhat the worse for wear hard on his heels, Konoe moaned and clamped his eyes shut, desperately wishing he was somewhere else. The weary chief of the Summons Bureau focused on a vision of himself soaking up the sun on a tropical beach, sipping sweet coconut juice to prevent himself from losing it completely. 

Tatsumi's eyes widened in disbelief, but he quickly collected himself, prepared to smooth things over with the king, and most importantly, to prevent the recalcitrant Shinigami from going ballistic – the secretary assessed he looked crazy enough to do just that. His eyes darted from the speechless, glaring king to the heavenly visitors. He saw nothing more than two blinding orbs of light at the spot where the two princes stood. Upon Tsuzuki's unceremonious intrusion, Isao's and Masato's auras had once more flashed to fiery levels in order to conceal themselves; Nagi seemed more at ease and less alarmed as he stepped forward to peer at the newcomer curiously.

"Tsuzuki! How dare you… you… brazen brat…!" Outrage colored the face of Meifu's monarch a deep red while his voice boomed threateningly.

Tatsumi pursed his lips tightly to stop his laughter from escaping at hearing his king's spluttering.

_Right now, I'd like nothing more than to wring that neck of yours, Tsuzuki, but I've got to hand it to you – you've got solid balls on you, barging in here like this. I believe I'm in for some fine entertainment..._

The king's irascible words ground the figure charging down the center of the hall to a halt. Breathless, his chest heaving, Tsuzuki looked at his ruler, all the fire in his bearing gone. His expression took on an apologetic, almost innocent quality as he scratched his head distractedly.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Tsuzuki?! How dare you burst in here unannounced, without an appointment?!" The king impatiently gestured to the pair of sentries to return to their posts beyond the doors.

"Ah, I… um, sorry, m'lord…"

Konoe's hands rose to rub his throbbing temples while Tatsumi suppressed a smirk of amusement, thoroughly delighted at the goings-on.

"QUIET!! I haven't given you permission to speak! I've a mind to strip you of your rank and throw you in the slammer for your impertinence… and, for conducting yourself in such an unruly manner in my court, and, in the presence of these," here the king gestured towards his guests, "distinguished deities!"

Bright, wide violet eyes darted around the hall. A flustered Tsuzuki gaped at the perimeter of luminescence and at the armor-clad Nagi, blinked and turned towards Konoe and Tatsumi. Noting their presence for the first time, he grinned happily at their presence, lifted a hand to wave it at them, only to be met by his chief's ominous 'you'll suffer for this' glare. Next to him, Tatsumi responded with a 'who the hell are you, I don't know you' expression and promptly proceeded to inspect the ceiling. Suddenly, horribly aware of the severity of his blunder, he crashed to his knees, lowering before his king, placing forehead between hands on the floor before his feet.

Inside the circle of celestial camouflage, Isao smiled and turned amused eyes to his uncle's. Masato, fingers fidgeting nervously with the medallion at his chest returned his glance with an embarrassed flush. His nephew lowered his head, moved his mouth to whisper at his ear, "So, Uncle, the rumors turn out to be truth. He really is… quite adorable." Masato gazed at the penitent mound at the king's feet tenderly. Wistful tears welled and moistened the fine black hairs lining his lower eyelid, while his nephew smiled sadly, sympathizing with his uncle and understanding all too well what it was he was feeling.

The king's heart softened, as it always did in the presence of Asato Tsuzuki. As troublesome as he was, he could not remain angry with him for long. He had long ceased puzzling over the reasons why – he just accepted it. All he knew was whenever he was harsh with him, his actions always returned to haunt him. Punishing him seemed tantamount to being cruel to a small, furry, defenseless creature, a rabbit or kitten with big, petrified eyes. He bent to place a hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder, addressing him softly. "Up. Stand, Tsuzuki." After the errant Shinigami obeyed him, the king saw what he had expected: tears pooling in doleful, contrite eyes – he sighed at the beautiful color in them and wondered for the millionth time if they were in themselves a spell that could sway and subdue, and cause one to feel guilt at having made those eyes weep.

_The imp probably knows I have a soft spot for him and uses it, knowing he can get away with his mischief time after time… I really should toughen up and punish him for real, lest he become too big for his boots…_

"Permission to speak, Sire?" whispered the Shinigami, biting the corner of his lower lip apprehensively.

The king sighed, nodded his head and glanced at Konoe's deeply lined face, his heart going out to the man. _Now I know why you continued to age even as an immortal, my friend._

Bending at the waist, Tsuzuki spoke, slowly, calmly. "I am deeply sorry, my lord, for my behavior. And to you all, my lords," he turned to address the three deities to bow low before them as well, "I express my sincerest apologies for entering your presence in such an ungentlemanly fashion. I will accept any punishment you all deem fit to impose upon me." He paused to acknowledge Konoe and the Shadow Master with a dip of his head. "Sorry, Chief, Tatsumi, I know I'm an incurable pain in the butt, thank you for putting up with me. I promise I'll make it up to you soon."

A distinct, rippling giggle resounded from within the sphere of light, a sound that lightened everyone's tension considerably, surprising Tsuzuki, although he dared not glance towards the source of the sound, deciding that he should not assume at this point that he was out of the woods and back in the favor of his monarch.

Determined to appear threatening, the king spoke in menacing tones. "For now, I will accept your apology. As for your punishment, I will be giving it some thought. Now then, I expect there is a reason for your actions. Do enlighten us as to purpose of your visit."

The Shinigami inclined his head respectfully. "M'lord. The reason I came was to inform you that I have located him – Muraki."

All memory of his earlier misconduct flew out the room; the attention of all present became riveted on Tsuzuki.

"Very well done, lad! Where is he now?"

"Sire, begging your pardon and with all due respect, I will not disclose his whereabouts to anyone…" The Shinigami's voice was calm, but inflected with finality.

"What… what do you mean…? Explain yourself!"

The king's temper mounted. Konoe whimpered. Tatsumi's eyebrows climbed.

"Until I am assured that not one hair on Kazutaka Muraki's head will be harmed, I will not hand him over."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Ah. Further enlighten me as to why, Tsuzuki."

Isao and Masato exchanged questioning looks, both their faces lighting up with hope, relieved to learn that they might possibly have gained an ally from the ranks of the Shinigami, and one who was himself a Hybrid, with dormant powers that could prove useful in saving the prodigal child, one whom their emperor now was prepared to recognize as one of his own.

"I have learned that he was seduced and deceived by the nameless one. That loathsome entity took advantage of him, using his grief and loss to warp his mind, augmenting the hatred and lust for revenge for all the wrongs and pain he suffered as a child. Had it not been for that demon's interference, I'm convinced he would not have become the man we've all come to know as a cold-blooded serial killer; he would have overcome his hurt… I came face to face with him, I lured his true self out into the open…" The Shinigami choked then, the outpouring of his impassioned words came to a halt. He seemed to struggle for control of himself and after taking a deep breath continued quietly, "I know… that even now, he's paying the price for all the wrongs he committed in the name of his pain; there's no better punishment than one's own conscience…"

No one moved, nor did the king interrupt him, even when he paused. The hall was filled with static electricity – signs that Tsuzuki's emotions were running out of control, seeping out through his body and manifesting outside of him; such was his determination to deliver his plea, such was his compassion for the man sentenced, body and soul both, to death by the judge of this court he stood in. The Shadow Master stood at full alert, poised for damage control and ready to smother any fires unintentionally sparked by the Shinigami's powers with his shadows.

"… I ask only that his life be spared, that he be given a chance to live out his life as the good man he surely would have been had that demon not wreaked havoc with his mind. You may argue, m'lord, that an inherent evil in him made it possible for him to fall prey to the demon's whisperings, but bear this in mind: he cried out in his grief, but not one deity came to his aid. In his madness, he made a mistake and believed that the nameless one was his savior…"

At that point, shut up in his private chambers, the emperor of heaven, who had been privy to everything taking place in Meifu's Great Hall through a mind-link with Isao, hung his head in shame.

The heavenly prince and his uncle were deeply moved, both by the man who held their attention and by his account of the pain-filled childhood years of the condemned, Kazutaka Muraki. These revelations proved to be devastating to Isao. The god let out a sob, audible to all, before he clamped his hand over his mouth to hold back the flood of anguished soul-cries that threatened to break free. That sorrowful sound seemed to affect everyone gathered; it hung over them like a pall of grief as they felt a distinct tremor of the ground beneath their feet. Only Nagi could see the pair – Masato had his nephew in a firm grip, his face pressed against his shoulder as he whispered calming reassurances into his ear. Nagi knew why: Masato could not allow Isao to vent his soul-cries – they had the power to turn the whole of Hades into rubble.

Meanwhile, Konoe's eyes shone with pride. Nevertheless, Tsuzuki's grandstanding worried him – the king might not take too kindly to the fact that he was being upstaged in his own court. Looking at the man standing there, hands fisted tightly at his sides, making a great effort to keep his voice even, Konoe grasped at what it was that was driving him: desperation. The man appeared to be fighting for his own life, and the sight touched the chief's heart. Setting his jaw with determination, he made up his mind to back his Shinigami.

"… I'm not attempting to dismiss or make light of all the lives snuffed out by his hands when I say he was as much a victim as they were. The true murderer is the nameless one, not Muraki. Grant Kazutaka Muraki your mercy, Sire, and direct your wrath at this entity instead."

The Shadow Master resisted his urge to cheer and applaud. _Oh, bravo, Tsuzuki! You missed your calling; you would've made a top-class Advocate!_ As a flash of insight washed through Seiichiro Tatsumi's mind, he sighed with satisfaction. Since he had entered the hall earlier that day, he had been exasperated when faced by the presence of the true immortals and had been steadily trying to figure out what was going on. Being the astute man he was, he prided himself on staying ahead of things. Isao's sorrowful cry had proved his suspicions to be correct. Konoe had been right, he reflected, their presence was indeed related to Muraki – the key word to Tatsumi was: _RELATED_.

* * *

He had been grateful for the work. A sad assignment though it was, it distracted him from his irrepressible urge to see _him_ again… 

It had taken him a week to befriend and gently coax her – a child who had died, whose form still roamed the world of the living, refusing to let go, bound to her grieving twin sister. At last, crying pitiful tears that broke his heart, she had taken hold of his hand with her tiny cold one…

"They'll all forget me, won't they? Ayako, Mommy and Daddy… I don't want them to forget me…" He had knelt, pulling the small trembling body into his arms. "No, little one, they'll never forget you, I promise you. You will live on, in their hearts, thoughts and dreams…"

Suddenly aware of another Shinigami's presence, he had looked over the child's head. There, at a respectful distance, stood the tall figure of Seiichiro Tatsumi, his face clouded with concern. Rising with the girl in his arms as Tatsumi quietly approached them, Yutaka Watari spoke in alarmed tones. "Tatsumi? Why have you come? Has something happened?"

Sloughing off his jacket, a reassuring smile softened the Shadow Master's features as he shook his head. "I'm here to take her. She's ready, aren't you, Akiko-chan?" The little girl nodded, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. Behind his glasses, the sapphires in Tatsumi's eyes stared into the widened eyes of the child clinging to Watari. Her eyes grew glazed and sleepy under Tatsumi's spell, her form sagging in the arms of the Shinigami who drew her tightly against his chest, clearly upset and reluctant to relinquish her. Biting down on his lower lip hard to stop the rush of muddled emotions overtaking him, he turned his back on the secretary. "Just give me a moment, Tatsumi, please, and then I'll go with you…"

"No." Tatsumi's voice was quiet, but the word was uttered in a tone that Watari knew all too well – spoken in that tone, everyone in the Summons Bureau knew that it meant 'no and no and no, nothing you say or do will make a difference, when I say no I mean no and that's that, it'll always be that way, and I'll always have my way, so there'.

Watari spun round to face the taller man, startled to find him so close since he hadn't heard him move, his eyes flashing at cool blue ones. "What…? Why…? What do you mean?"

Unaffected by his colleague's sudden hostility, Tatsumi shifted even closer, so close that the blond could smell the lemongrass-scented soap that the man was partial to, and Watari glared, a part of him baffled by his own defiance and anger. In the manner he had seen him perform hundreds of times with a rebellious or depressed Tsuzuki, Tatsumi's practiced hand rose like a magician's. His long fingers curled beneath the blond's chin, lifting it, then slid upwards to press his palm against his cheek. Smiling with his mouth and eyes, the secretary leaned his face nearer the blond's.

_What in heaven's name is he doing?!_

Stunned and panicked, believing the Shadow Master intended to kiss him, he tried to jerk free but found he could not move. He watched, fascinated, as the waxy lips stopped short of kissing him; they parted and sweet-smelling breath, with its overtones of jasmine and a hint of frankincense, came wafting from between them. He yielded to its witchery, feeling his rancor drain out of him.

_He's a demon in a suit! He probably has more hocus pocus tricks up his sleeve than Muraki has!_

Watari's irreverent thoughts weren't meant unkindly as he shook his head and smiled at the cheeky glint in Tatsumi's eyes as he stepped back and held out his spread jacket. "Come, give her to me. This case has been difficult for you. Allow me to bring her to Meifu. Don't worry; she'll be perfectly fine. You need a break, Watari… wander around your beloved Kyoto for a while, until you feel better, all right? And, don't fret about Konoe, I'll square things with him."

"Tatsumi, I…" It seemed to Watari that something, or someone, clamped his mouth shut.

Tatsumi's sturdy arms shifted the swaddled, sleeping child, placing her tousled head against his shoulder. "Besides, it's autumn, and I do know how you adore Kyoto when she's draped in fall colors," he whispered with a wink and an enigmatic smile before he and Akiko disappeared, leaving a befuddled, open-mouthed Watari standing alone in the playground.

As the chilly wind scooped up the ends of his mane and played with them, loosening the knot of his orange bow, he dawdled, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his boot. His brow crinkled at the recollection of Tatsumi's eyes, the soft twinkle in them just before he'd vanished had transmitted… what? Understanding? Shaking his head, he exhaled tiredly, suddenly immensely grateful to the secretary. He was right, Watari conceded, he did need a break so very badly. His weeklong mission had exhausted him; it seemed more like a month had passed as he struggled to find strength to continue convincing the girl that she had to let go, trying to remain unaffected by her plight – her young happy life cut short so mercilessly by a freak accident – and, constantly… memories of a voice, so deep that it dipped to a throaty rasp at times, sumptuous dark hair and melancholy brown eyes vied for a place in his waking and sleeping thoughts. He felt his knees weaken with love and desire.

_Still so lovesick… what will become of me? Will I eventually wither away and die from a broken heart like some besotted character in an ancient fairytale?_

Laughing weakly, sadly, at himself, he wrapped his shawl tighter around his neck and began walking, making a mental note to pick up a special gift for Tatsumi and treats for the others. His eyes soaked in the scarlet, brown and ochre shades of the trees; the fallen leaves crackled and crunched beneath the tread of his boots. He stopped at a playing field for a while, to watch some youngsters, yelling boys at their soccer game, feeling the ache in his bones fading away. Long after the sun dipped below the horizon, his stroll to the shops where he intended to purchase his presents took him past narrow streets lined by the establishments that purveyed nightlife entertainment, and froze in his tracks at the entrance of a very familiar lane…

There, just up ahead, swaying in the breeze, beckoning, was Kokakuro's lantern…

Irresolute, he was rendered immobile for a full ten minutes. The ache in his heart grew unbearable, and it settled the emotional deadlock for him. "Just a glimpse," he whispered, his eyes lit up like a young child's at the prospect of opening a pile of birthday presents.

Dispensing with entering through the front door, Yutaka Watari assumed ghost form and rose upwards, landing in the middle of the private garden of the man who had snared his heart, a heart that now hammered away in his chest when he heard the soft treading of sandaled feet on cobblestone, smelled the tobacco…

The man he had been craving to see came into his view, walking slowly, head bowed, pipe in hand. As the boggle-eyed Shinigami held his breath, Oriya came to a halt a few feet away from him. He saw the dark head lifting and then the beautiful face was presented to him, smooth, freshly scrubbed, free of the powder and paint he wore for his performances, his heavy hair still slightly wet, draped around the plain teal yukata that covered his tall, slender frame. As Watari stared, his eyes drinking in every inch of his splendor, thanking the deities for answering his prayers and granting him this magnificent sight, Oriya closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, turning his head slowly, finally letting it tilt backwards. He remained in that stance, his head languidly turning this way and that, almost like he was attempting to sense something, all the while offering Watari a view of an expanse of his neck, a neck that appeared masculine, strong, and femininely delicate in the same breath. The Shinigami's need of him rose to a dangerous level, wanting desperately to act out all the erotic fantasies he had been indulging in right there and then; his frame shook as he fought for self-control.

"Yutaka?"

The blond jumped at the sound of that beloved voice, before stilling, mute with shock, legs turning into jelly at having heard his name called.

"You're here, aren't you? Let me see you."

"Yes, I'm here, Oriya," he answered, his voice thick with passion, taking a few moments to regain his wits before he revealed himself.

Although he had been prepared for Watari's appearance, Oriya gasped softly; his pipe clattered to the ground. The eyes that stared at the Shinigami were hungry, as hungry as the ones that returned his gaze, roaming covetously over his angel's desirable form. The golden glow of the long wavy hair lit up the garden, and once more, Oriya thought of the sun. The warmth that emanated from this being that had cared for him so tenderly, so selflessly, reached him, wrapped him, heating his cool skin. The faint 'bong' of a shrine's stone bell sounded somewhere in the distance, but it was deafening to Oriya. He knew in that moment that he was standing at a crossroads – that he could choose to continue existing in the shadows where his heart would eventually freeze over – or, he could step on to the path bathed in the light of this guileless man, whose love for him was so tangible, laid so plainly bare, his for the taking…

In the span of a few heartbeats, Oriya Mibu made his choice, casting off the hurt and loneliness he had worn like a weighted cloak for so long.

The smile on Oriya's flushed lips was at once shy and inviting as he moved, coming to stand close to his visitor from the netherworld, giving Watari the courage to speak.

"I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to trespass, or intrude upon your privacy… but I just… had to see you, Oriya…"

Cool fingers on his lips silenced him. "I'm glad you came. I've been… longing to see you. I've missed you, Yutaka."

Oriya's whispers, as breathless as his own had been, the rosy tinge on pale cheeks that complemented the blushing moon set low in the night sky, entranced the Shinigami, filled him with untold joy.

They slammed together, embracing tightly, breathing hard, before separating, love-sated eyes meeting. Their quivering lips joined, tentatively, shyly, at first; tender kisses quickly became rough, tongues pushing, delving deep, tasting, wild, demanding. Fingers tangled in hair, roamed over each other, groped and gripped as they groaned softly.

While they pressed their heated bodies together, each wanting to claim the other completely, a lone figure, concealed behind the trunk of a maple tree, observed them with sorrowful eyes.

When they finally broke apart from their frenzied embrace, feeling the unstoppable urge to lie down with each other, unencumbered by their clothes, Oriya, his robe loosened and shoulder bared, grasped the blond's hand and tugged him towards the raised verandah.

Kazutaka Muraki sighed deeply. Pressing his forehead against the cool bark, he smashed his fist against it, sending a tremor through the tree, dislodging a multitude of its leaves. Standing beneath the spray of falling red leaves, his shoulders heaved and shook from his bitter sobbing.

To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you – to Sueona, Princess Sin, Jollyolly, Morality and Chazmy. I'm glad you all are faithfully following this story. Your support makes the hours I spend working on it truly worthwhile – again, thank you! _

_Chazmy, thanks for mentioning Lord Enma in your review – I have seen this name given to the ruler of Meifu in fics, but I wasn't sure about it. In the series, I would hear the phrase 'enma-cho', and I thought it meant 'judgment bureau'. Thanks for confirming the name. I made use of it in this part :)_

_Disclaimers/reminders: This is a work of fiction. Yami no Matsuei and all the characters therein belong to Yoko Matsushita. All the other characters are my own. This story is rated **M**, for **mature themes**._

* * *

_**Love and darkness **_

_**Part Twelve**_

_**The last of the Hybrid offspring: prayer for a forgotten child**_

Sleep would not come to him. As exhausted as he was, he couldn't escape from the effects of adrenalin flows and ebbs caused by his emotional highs and lows. Fury plummeted to misery; despair to a newfound sense of purpose when the sparks of a fresh revenge-driven rage surged through his broken spirit, only to crash again, his fevered thoughts overtaken by fear and remorse. He crawled into a closet and cried until his head throbbed. He chain-smoked until the nicotine in those poisonous sticks nauseated him, drank until the alcohol burned his insides.

All he longed for was the release of death and the oblivion it would bring. But, something needled at him. There was something he needed to do… _what was it? _He banged his head against the wall, crazed, frustrated because he could not grasp the answer.

He lay on his back on the floor and laughed himself into a state of hysteria. The answer seemed hidden in the recesses of his mind, elusive, tantalizing him, revealing fragments of itself, only to dart out of reach again and submerge itself within the remnants of his slowly unraveling mind.

At last, he drifted into a fitful sleep, where troubled dreams awaited him.

The central theme of these dreams was a journey. In each of them, he found himself undertaking perilous journeys to attain something, an extraordinary treasure that continually eluded him, while an unseen force, nefarious and sinister, stalked him, filled him with terror.

Each time his heart quickened from the knowledge that what he sought was so close, within his grasp, more dangers would appear to hinder him. In his final dream, he swam across turbulent waters, scaled treacherous slopes of mountains to lay his hands on the holy grail of his quest. When it seemed all his strength and will had been depleted, he cried out in anguish, prayed – to whom he did not know. But it seemed his prayers had been answered; he would pick himself up, time and again, move his battered body and press on. When he stopped for breath, he would sense the shadow that pursued him at his back, and he would falter. He flung rocks, swung makeshift weapons made from tree branches at the thing he could not see. Amid his despair, he heard a voice, calling, encouraging him: "Fight with your will, not your strength. I'm waiting for you. Don't look back. Come to me. Use your will to find me." From then on, he gritted his teeth and strengthened his will, so that he charged effortlessly through the remainder of the punishing gauntlet ahead of him, no longer feeling the relentless pursuit of the dark force behind him.

At last, he came upon a paradisiacal place of peace. Holding his breath with anticipation, he saw the curtain of mist that preceded his steps fall away, finally revealing his prize.

Tears of happiness and relief leaked from the sleeping eyes of Kazutaka Muraki. With his dreaming eyes, he saw him, the gentle, loving smile on his face, the face of a bodhisattva. A few more steps, and he would be home free! He took them and fell into the embrace of his bodhisattva, sobs wracking his tired body. "Shh… everything will be all right now, I love you," whispered his bodhisattva. The voice, the words, were like a balm being rubbed on his hurting soul. His face was held and lifted. He cringed from sudden shame at his dishevelment, his grimy, bloodstained clothes and tried to pull away. But he was held fast by those loving arms, and when he blinked his tears away, the bodhisattva's face transformed into Oriya Mibu's…

* * *

Iroki dressed himself with care. After fastening the sash around his waist, he gathered up his long black tresses and bound them with black velvet ribbons at the top of his head. Satisfied that his appearance was impeccable, he glanced at the clock on his dresser. 

"Oh no! I'm late! Master Eiji will be angry!"

The immortal youth dashed out of the dormitory. His feet picked up speed across the courtyard, but his heavy long robe hindered his sprinting, so he scooped up its edges, lifting them above his knees and continued his sprint to the Imperial Hall of History. To his chagrin, there seemed to be quite a number of goddesses in the area that morning, all of whom stopped to gawk and giggle and for once, Iroki did not despise the silk pantaloons that were a requisite part of his uniform, since they shielded his skinny legs from the gaze of the eminent ladies.

He arrived at his assigned office out of breath, and hastily proceeded to smoothen out his garments and tidy his hair. The apprentice scribe was delighted to find that stacks of fresh, blank sheets of parchment had been placed on his desk, together with several brand-new quill pens and bottles of ink. He set his lips in a tight line. _None of those 'computers' for me – no way!_

His master had told him recently that in the mortal world, as well as in Meifu, records or 'data' were fed into devices called 'computers' and stored in things called 'discs'. His instructor had laughed at his astonished face and had shown him pictures of those objects in a magazine from the mortal world. Although intrigued, Iroki was secretly fearful of them and he was glad that these strange methods of recording facts had not invaded his realm. His expression had grown seriously troubled when Master Eiji had announced in a delighted voice that he had ordered a computer for himself through Lord Enma's assistance. "I was told that it's the latest type, extremely popular and very, ah… '_compact_'… something called a '_notebook_', which I can carry around with me. Doesn't it seem wonderful?" He had looked at his master's eyes, shining with eager anticipation and then remarked, somewhat disdainfully, "A notebook? How can it be called a notebook when it is not a book?" Master Eiji had laughed uproariously at him again. "Why, I do believe you're scared of them, these computers, aren't you? Come on, admit it." Iroki had not liked the way his master's eyes narrowed impishly. "When my notebook arrives, I insist you come and see it… oh, it won't bite you! Lord Enma had very kindly offered to arrange for me to be instructed in its use by one of the Shinigami, Yutaka Watari, an inventor of sorts, and apparently an expert on computers. I confess I find the prospect to be quite exciting… ah, I know! I'll take you with me, Iroki! Would you like that?" Iroki, wide-eyed and stubbornly wary, had reacted to this proposal with undisguised apprehension, stammering incoherently, whereupon his master had picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, laughing gleefully and totally disregarding his pupil's squeaks of protests.

Recalling that incident, the youth's face warmed with embarrassment. He shook his head with longsuffering. As fond as he was of his master, he was sometimes stymied by his playful streak and was more at ease with the other teachers and Scribes who were similar to himself in nature, serious and single-minded. It amazed him however, that these illustrious figures, the majority of whom were truly ancient beings, accepted his master's mischief making, merely clucking their tongues with affectionate smiles. As such, he could not have hoped for any one of the teaching staff to come to his aid when he had been carried in that ignominious manner, through the hallway crammed with pointing, amused students, his teacher chortling all the way to his classroom. Amid the chuckles of the other students – half of which were young maidens, which had made it all the more humiliating for him, since Iroki was painfully shy of maidens – he had been plunked onto his chair. Horribly mortified, he had watched his master stride coolly to the front of the classroom, as if hauling pupils into class on his shoulder was a perfectly normal thing to do. After mounting the dais and flashing an entrancing smile on his flock, he commenced the day's lessons purposefully, his tone compelling without being overbearing, eyes gentle but always with that hint of playfulness peeping through. These attributes were his draw, Iroki decided; why he was loved, celebrated, his reputation preceding him, why the new students hoped fervently to be assigned to his class, why they thrived under his guidance.

These reflections led Iroki to think about another fact concerning his master: he found it surprising that his master lived alone, having never taken a consort. It was no secret that he was one of the most eligible bachelor deities and had remained thus for ages, out of reach to many who hoped to win him. The youth had himself witnessed the effect his master had on these would-be suitors, unattached goddesses, and gods, for that matter. The eyes of these love-struck beings would linger wistfully on him, and Iroki could not help but feel sorry for them, because his master did not seem to notice their obvious attraction to him, or their outright flirtations. Or, perhaps, thought Iroki, he did notice them, but merely feigned that he did not. Either way, it did not seem likely that any of these hopeful contenders for Master Eiji's heart were going to be successful in their endeavors anytime soon.

Iroki strode to the window near his desk and pushed open the shutters, allowing sunlight to stream into the room. The youth, who had been a history buff since he could toddle, loved this place, this immense building with its maze of halls and corridors, endless shelves that held countless millennia's worth of documented history; he loved the odors of ancient ink and manuscripts. It seemed to Iroki that all the history written on the parchments saturated the very air of these great rooms. With pride and a deep sense of achievement, he sat down blissfully at his desk.

He did not hear the door opening. Into the room stepped his master, tall and regal in his appearance. His full-length outer tunic had a fine sheen to it, the deep green and gold tints on its surface glimmered when he moved. Iroki sprang to his feet to execute a formal bow and proper greetings to his teacher. His stammered apology for his tardiness was interrupted by his master's elegant, rising hand and rich voice.

"It is quite all right, Iroki. You have been an exemplary student, such that I'm willing to forgive this small lapse."

The apprentice, relieved, bowed once more and expressed his thanks profusely, lifting his eyes to his master's serene face. The kindly smile there reached his eyes, which were the color of sun-kissed grass. Shining yellow hair, diaphanous in its quality, hung free, draping his shoulders and torso. The facets of citrines sparkled on his earlobes and fingers.

His student, who was small in stature, eyed his master's manly frame, wondering with no small measure of envy if his own physique would ever gain such heights of masculinity. Laughter, so hearty that it shook his master's broad shoulders, made Iroki's cheeks and ears turn a bright hue of red and he silently swore at himself for forgetting that his teacher could read his thoughts.

Eiji held the youth by his shoulders and Iroki had to tilt his head back to look at his master's face. "Cease your worrying, my pupil. I assure you that you have not stopped growing." The indulgent smile gracing Eiji's lips chased the lad's embarrassment away. "Who knows, eh, Iroki, someday, perhaps I will have to look up at you," he declared, good-naturedly. Sighing, he stepped back, tilted his head with his knuckles beneath his chin, considering his pupil, light dancing in his irises. "I am very pleased with you, proud of you. Tomorrow, you will no longer be an apprentice, but a fully-fledged Scribe. I congratulate you, Iroki!" Master acknowledged student with a dip of his noble head.

"All thanks to you, master. It has been a great honor to train and study beneath your tutelage. I am deeply grateful."

Eiji watched his pupil's bow with pride and amusement before he clapped his large hands together with zest. "From tomorrow, I expect you to be less formal with me, is that understood?" This request was delivered with mock severity.

"Oh, er, yes, of course, Sir," replied Iroki, who was fretfully wondering if it were at all possible to be less than formal when in his master's company – in spite of all his playfulness, he possessed such a princely bearing that demanded absolute respect and ceremony.

"Come, let us stroll to my rooms. I declare this a day off for you, young one! We will drink peach tea and eat lotus cakes," announced Eiji with a grin. "A small celebration is in order, to commemorate your becoming a Scribe and Keeper of the Annals!"

Iroki sighed happily and tripped after his master, almost running to stay in pace with his long strides…

Later, teacher and pupil were ensconced in plush armchairs in Eiji's airy, sitting room, the windows of which overlooked a verdant sanctuary that housed a wide variety of bird life and small mammals that made their homes in the trees. Birdsong and occasional animal calls floated to where they sat, providing pleasant accompaniment to their conversation.

Iroki looked over the rim of his teacup to find his master's eyes on him. Although the pair of green eyes seemed to be focused on him, the look in them was distant, distracted. Unsettled, the immortal scribe-to-be averted his eyes; setting his cup down, he dropped his gaze into his lap, debating with himself on whether or not to say something.

"Iroki."

"Yes, master?"

"In all my years of teaching, I have never before had the privilege of taking under my wing someone so passionately in love with history as you are. I daresay that you must be the most widely read scholar in this subject…"

Iroki made a little noise of humble protest, but Eiji waved away his objections. "No, I merely speak the truth. Your devotion to your studies is truly inspirational…" His voice tapered off and once again his eyes sought his pupil's face. "I shall tell you a story, Iroki, a true story. It is… a part of our history that was… erased from the Annals."

Eiji smiled gently to reassure, when he noted his young companion's sudden tense demeanor and anxious expression. "Relax, Iroki. This is not a test, I promise you, but something I wish to impart to you, before you take up your duties… make of it, learn from it, what you will. Get comfortable, put your feet up… oh, go on!"

His teacher's ploy of seeming hurt when Iroki refrained from propping up his feet on the footrest achieved results. The youth immediately obeyed, relaxed a little, and when his master began his tale, Iroki was glad of his voice; it was kind to his ears. He could listen to him for hours and hours without getting bored and nodding off. His heart raced, as though he were being let in on a deep, dark secret…

_"There was a time when the gods and goddesses roamed as they wished, traveling liberally between our realm and that of the mortal beings._

"_We True Immortals, although highly intelligent, tend to be somewhat… child-like, shall I say, in our perceptions. Born and raised in the ultimate Utopia, we knew no suffering – death, wars, poverty, sickness, hunger – these conditions are completely alien to our reality. Being entities of loving and compassionate natures, the plight of the short-lived mortals saddened us._

"_We began to use our powers to ease their suffering, making the rains come when their wells and rivers ran dry, to nourish the grain-producing shoots that sprung, planted by worn mortal hands, from the ground. We made the rains cease when the people of the earth wailed at the relentless monsoons that threatened to ruin their crops; gusts from immortal lungs blew away the storm clouds, allowing the sun's warmth to ripen their fruit and grain._

"_We even went so far as to bestow longevity on some favored mortals, because we loved them dearly and did not want them to perish so soon. The lips of deities kissed the sick and debilitated, healing them, as we could not bear to witness their suffering and the cries of those mortals who loved them._

"_O-Ran, the emperor of heaven silently observed all of this unhappily, knowing deep in his heart that the denizens of his realm were overstepping their boundaries and interfering in the natural order of human life, upsetting the cycle of climatically-controlled seasons that was natural to the Earth's situation._

"_Troubled, the emperor consulted Junko, the Epicene Celestial Oracle. Junko spoke, and O-Ran gathered all his deities and decreed that they were to refrain from interfering in the affairs of the mortal world, and to heed the Oracle's warning that chaos would ensue if the situation continued unabated._

"_There rose a great cry from among his subjects – protests: 'how can we not help them? It grieves us to see them suffer! We desire only to give them joy during their short lives, because we love them so…'_

"_In answer, the emperor declared: 'It is not our place to alter the natural order of their world. A continuance of your interference, however well intended, would eventually culminate in disaster. We are deities. Our duties are to comfort them in their times of trials and bolster the strength of their spirits to endure.'_

"_Objections and disgruntlement still prevailed after they heard his admonishments, and so our king resorted to a threat: 'If you do not obey, I will no longer allow you to visit the realm of the mortals!'_

"_A hush fell upon the shocked throng of deities. They stared, aghast, at their liege. A multitude of them wept, their tears in turn shocking and unsettling O-Ran._

"_Heaven's emperor embellished his instructions: 'I know how you all love them. Continue to love them, hear their prayers, strengthen them with a hint of your presence, let them know in their hearts you have heard them. They are resourceful, enduring beings – trust them to overcome their hardships, to live their lives without our interference.'_

"_Faced with the dismal prospect of not being able to be close to their beloved mortals, they capitulated dejectedly and resigned themselves to doing only what our sovereign had decreed._

"_And so the deities continued to flit joyfully among the mortals who fascinated them. They realized that O-Ran had been correct – they stood in awe at their ingenuity and inventiveness, at the inherent striving nature of the short-lived people. With each new achievement, our love for the mortals was renewed, over and over._

"_As the centuries flowed by, they were thrilled by the machines brought forth by clever minds and toiling hands, by the special ones that rose among them, to lead and govern, to provide better lives, who fought for peace and strove to put an end to strife and poverty._

"_Thus the true immortals grew ever more captivated by the earth mortals, and this state of affairs paved the way for a new crisis…_

"_The deities faithfully did as they had been told. Within their hearts they stored, raptly, as if gathering priceless items, the prayers of their devotees. They danced delightfully to the music and song, the chants of their praises in their temples and shrines. Immortal nostrils inhaled the myriad scents of freshly cut blooms and offerings of food placed upon altars dedicated to their chosen deities. In return for all these gifts of heartfelt words, beautiful flowers and food, all the more precious when placed upon altars by the poor, the gods and goddesses warmed and lightened the hearts of hurting mortal souls. With their lips they kissed the tears of the suffering, surrounding them with their love. _

"_The Immortals opened their bursting hearts to love them, pressed their lips to mortal ones, moved their fingers to caress mortal skin…_

"_In time, this hotbed of innocent affection nurtured… desire, which resulted in carnal relationships between the beings of the two realms._

"_Thus, Hybrid offspring were conceived, by both the divinities and the mortals. It must be pointed out that mortal women conceived the majority of these children._

"_This fact made no difference, however, to heaven's king, whose brow was deeply furrowed and etched with consternation at these troubling developments._

"_A firm edict was issued to his minions to stop these couplings when Junko the Oracle declared that the procreation of the hybrids, who would inherit the powers of the immortals, would again prove disastrous if left unchecked. Once more, the natural order of life in the mortal world was being tampered with – a race of unnatural, super-mortals were being bred. Equally worrying was the introduction of half-mortals to our realm…_

"_Supreme General Nagi and his army of enforcers were dispatched with haste to erase the memories of the mortals' encounters with the deities, manipulating them as such that those unions had never occurred. While they were engaged in this task, it was discovered that a young mortal woman had conceived a child by Isao, O-Ran's firstborn. Furthermore, this event had occurred after the edict had been issued._

"_Beside himself with rage at Isao's disobedience, the emperor ex-communicated him, banishing his beloved, favorite child from the celestial palace and issued a further decree – one that banned all his deities from visiting the mortal world. All the portals leading to it were shut, sealed, and vigilantly guarded by the enforcers; to this day, they have remained so._

"_Following this, there took place the heart wrenching task of gathering up all the love-children of the goddesses, conceived by mortal men, those who had been born in the heavenly realm._

"_Ah… such terrible soul-cries resounded in the heavens that day… the outpouring of grief from these unfortunate mothers was so great that an icy rain poured from dense, dark clouds that obscured the seven suns of heaven for seven days._

"_This unprecedented event – precipitation had never fallen in the heavens before – did not undermine O-Ran's determination to have the children sent to the mortal world, there to be raised by foster parents, mortals. Nor did the beseeching of his sister's child, the goddess Sanae. Distraught but defiant, she held his enforcers at bay, refusing to hand over her infant, who was six-months old in age. The enforcers balked, loath to injuring her, for she is a well-loved goddess._

"_It was only when his beloved consort, Hatate, threw herself at his feet, begging him to reconsider that he waivered. Torn, O-Ran sought out the Oracle, who pronounced his decision to be correct._

"_But still the queen resisted and held the king at a standoff for a month, with the threat of splitting the heavens into two factions. Her's was no idle threat: the heavens were, indeed, divided over the fate of the heaven-born offspring; she had the support of half the deities and half of the enforcers. Nevertheless, her threat profoundly stunned the kingdom's populace, for the depth of the love between O-Ran and Hatate is legendary. But upon reflection, they assumed that her separation from her son Isao, under house arrest in the northern part of the kingdom, had pushed her over the edge, and, possibly, the plight of Sanae had deeply affected her as well. At that time, the empress had birthed no daughters as yet, and she, in her yearning for a girl-child, had embraced Sanae as her own._

"_Panic and fear gripped both sides. The possibility of their blissful utopia being torn apart seemed imminent, when Hatate rode off, to O-Ran's shock and bewilderment, on the back of her winged tiger to the eastern territory, her supporters swarming behind her on their flight beasts. There she set up camp to decide her next move. Banners emblazoned with her emblem fluttered ominously in her encampment…_

"_A month after the stalemate began, O-Ran, standing on the highest balcony of his palace, looked up to see an arrow plummeting towards him in the sky. Nagi, at his side, pushed him out the way and caught the arrow. Noting it was one of Hatate's, he unwrapped the parchment attached to its shaft and handed it to his king._

"_With tight chest and horrified eyes, O-Ran read:_

" '_The outcome will be decided by a one-on-one battle between you and I. This, I am prepared to do in order to prevent casualties among our beloved populace. Tomorrow, when the seven suns have set, we will clash, over Mount Ryukan in the western sky. I will love you forever, my beloved O-Ran – Hatate'_

"_O-Ran ground the parchment to dust in his hand and fell to his knees and wept. 'Hatate… my love… why…?'_

"_The celestial citizens held their breaths as their king mounted his white dragon and rose into the firmament…_

"_Over the clouds above Ryukanyama, O-Ran eyed his consort atop her mount with heartbreak. 'I beg you to reconsider… Hatate… please, not this… I love you…' he uttered, brokenly, tears running down his face._

" '_No more talk! Draw your weapon, husband!'_

"_O-Ran cringed at her determined shriek, and shook his head. 'I cannot do this…'_

" '_Then, rescind your order. Let the children stay, and as for Isao…'_

" '_Why cannot you understand, Hatate? The Oracle has spoken. I cannot allow further procreation of hybrids! We cannot interfere in the affairs of mortals… our bloodlines must not be mixed with theirs…'_

"_Before he could continue his plea, Hatate whipped out her sword from its sheath, spurred her mount and charged at a terrifying speed towards king and dragon…_

"_Forming a wide circle around the pair was an entourage of twenty attendants, ten on each side, on hand to witness the outcome of the tragic battle to come, and, to bear away the fallen combatant. These gasped as one, hearts in their mouths at the awesome, valiant sight of the diminutive empress, her form forever girlish in her agelessness, and her roaring tiger streaking towards her opponent, queen and mount preposterously dwarfed by the gigantic, mighty dragon. The king's dragon, stirred by the tiger's aggression, was already lashing its great tail and spewing flames from its jaws. O-Ran screamed in anguish and strained to reign in his beast to prevent its flames from scorching his beloved queen. He still had not drawn his weapon. His mount seemed confused by his actions; it was being turned and led away, almost in retreat…_

"_Hatate's cry resounded. 'Turn around, O-Ran! Fight me!' Courageously, she gave chase, her arm and sword brandished above her tiger's head…_

"_It will never be known… how far the queen would have gone… gods and goddesses, to this day, still quail at the memory of her desperate charge… wondering if her sword would indeed have found its mark… only Hatate herself knows… but the answer will forever remain secret, buried in her heart… yes, we will never know, because, into her path flew Masato's winged stallion, rearing and whinnying. Hatate gasped in shock, yanked on the reigns of her mount before its extended claws could shred the flanks of her brother's huge black horse._

" '_Stop this!'_

"_Both Hatate and O-Ran turned their beasts around, startled by the voice, gaping._

"_In front of Masato sat Sanae, pale and breathless. 'I beg you to stop this, my queen! I cannot allow this to happen! I couldn't live with myself if either one of you were to be lost…'_

"_She seemed ill; her body drooped in the saddle as her head lolled. Only Masato's arm held her upright._

" '_Mercy… my king… grant us a mercy… a reprieve… only a reprieve… so that we may be allowed to choose the foster parents of our children… only this small mercy, and we will surrender them… put away your sword, my queen, my beloved second mother… I thank you for your support thus far… it is enough…'_

"_Her strained speech came to an end when she swooned, slumping against Masato, who sadly kissed her head._

"_Hatate looked at O-Ran, who nodded his agreement, weeping inwardly at all the sorrow engulfing his kingdom._

"_There came forth no cheering among the onlookers, only silent misery, at this outcome, merely an averting of one tragedy before another took place: the impending departure of the love-children of the goddesses… all these children were dearly loved by everyone…_

"_The last child to be taken from his mother's arms was Sanae's little boy. The exodus of the hybrid offspring was about to begin. The queen was nowhere to be seen that day, when a solemn Nagi looked to his king, awaiting his signal. When it came, the hybrid offspring of both genders – the young ones, frightened and bawling; the older and fully grown, silently weeping – were lulled into a deep sleep of forgetfulness and borne aloft in the arms of the enforcers._

"_O-Ran turned away from the stricken, crumbled form of his niece, unable to bear the sight of her grief. His deep sigh shook the heavens…_

"_After that day, a gloom settled over our realm. A terrible sense of loss gripped the hearts of the deities. The children aside, there was the awful separation from their beloved mortals to contend with. No longer able to fly happily among them, they could only listen to their prayers from the heavens, send comfort back to them telepathically. But they set themselves to their tasks in earnest, for the sake of their devotees, and partly to forget their pain. To this day, the world of the mortals remains off-limits to us. No doubt, the mortals feel the absence of immortal presence greatly. During the crisis leading up to the exodus, when every deity's attention was riveted on the developments taking place in our realm, surely our absence from their realm must have been especially sensed._

"_The adoptions engineered by the enforcers were to be the last acts of 'interference' by the immortals in the mortal world._

"_Sanae would later tell me that her son came to be raised by the couple she had chosen – good, honest, hardworking people who had been childless for ten years after their marriage. They were also her devotees, and she had heard their countless prayers to her for a child. Sanae sent a dream to her son's adoptive mother. In this dream, the woman walked in a garden. There she came upon a being clothed in light, who spoke in a woman's voice, identifying herself as Sanae, telling her that she had heard her prayers. 'I birthed him myself, for you. His name is Oriya. Raise him well, love him as your own, and ensure that he will embrace me as his personal deity, as you and your husband have. Do this in return of this special gift I have bestowed upon you.'_

"_As for Isao's son: he was born into a mortal family by name of Muraki to his mortal mother, and was called Kazutaka. This boy, grandchild of the emperor of heaven, was the last of the hybrid children, the child whose conception shook the very foundations of heaven and almost tore it asunder._

"_The exiled children grew up, lived, just as the ones born on earth had, among the mortals, seemingly like them in every way, but… they were not, in that they had special abilities, talents the modern mortal world came to recognize as telepathy, telekinesis and clairvoyance. Some possessed strength beyond the limits of human possibilities; others were highly intelligent, this trait appearing in very early childhood, called 'geniuses'. The powers inherited through their immortal bloodlines are potent enough to be passed down generation after generation, randomly bypassing some and manifesting in others. We hear of those with extended lives, those with resistance to diseases; some recover mysteriously from incurable illnesses, without treatment – mortals, depending on their beliefs, term these occurrences 'phenomena' and 'miracles'. Indeed, they are, for these are the descendants of the immortals."_

Iroki was silent for a long while, his mind turning over all that he had heard. He had been thoroughly immersed in the story. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he dared not give voice to them. As to why he felt this way, he wasn't certain; probably it was because his teacher, who had narrated the story as a professional storyteller or voice actor would have, with suitable inflections to his fine voice at the appropriate parts, had been trying very hard to seem impassive, merely telling the tale as if he had not been present. Because of this, he had received the distinct impression that his master must have been there, involved, in the very thick of the action, and not just some bystander, or someone who was simply repeating what he had read.

_I will ask my questions, perhaps, in the future…_ One of the questions he wanted to voice was: _and what about you, Master? Had you been one of them? Had you fallen in love with a mortal? _As soon as that question formed in his mind, he flushed, ashamed of himself. Even though he had asked it mentally, it seemed disrespectful, as though he was intruding on his master's privacy. Frantically, he hoped his master had not gleaned it from his mind.

His heart was deadweight inside of him. _I wonder why these events were erased from the records… was it because they never wanted to be reminded? Did they want to forget the mistakes they made, forget their pain? Someday, when enough time has passed for healing, acceptance and reconciliation with what had happened, perhaps this missing part of our written history can once again be added to The Annals… all history, good and bad, contain valuable lessons…_

While Iroki contemplated all this, Eiji was lost in his own thoughts – details he had not shared with his student…

_My answer to you, is 'yes', Iroki… I did love a mortal… I loved that one with a consuming passion that was truly alarming, even to me… it took so long for the pain to lessen, to be able to hold my shattered heart in place. But I'll never ever forget you… even though I'll never see you again, I'll never forget you, Fumio…_

_How you remind me of him, Iroki, in so many ways! In his youth, he was just like you… I saw him when he received his commission to teach the children at the palace of Prince Michizane. His black eyes shone with pride like yours did, when you graduated…_

_No, I'll never forget you… from the day I first saw you, you were very little then, praying, obediently doing as your parents wanted you to, to Eijisho, patron god of scholars… to the last, when you sat at your desk, writing the last chapter of your epic, one you intended to publish… I'll always remember your face as you sat there, lips set in concentration, hand constantly in motion, swift strokes of your brush moving above the parchment… above your shoulder I read the words you wrote, I read the exuberance in your thoughts, as you anticipated the publication of your work… the scent of your black hair, your profile, lit by candlelight, these things will forever be preserved in my memory… it was that night I made my decision to show myself to you when I next came to you. Before that night, I had only contented myself with observing you, placing fleeting touches on your hair and cheeks… once, while you slept, tired out from a day of instructing the children, I lay next to you and pressed my lips to yours and you stirred, sighed and murmured, and turned your face this way and that… whenever you felt my touches, you would react as if some insects were buzzing around you, as you swatted your hand at the invisible butterflies, looking perplexed and adorable… I delighted at this, laughed at this, and would kiss you even more to draw these reactions from you. Totally smitten by you, I resolved to appear before you, I, whom you had called upon over the years to aid you in your endeavors, to light your scholarly path, would present myself to you, and if you accepted, woo you and become your lover. But, I stopped myself at the very last moment. I did not go to you, never saw you again, nor heard your voice in prayer… rebelliousness was never in my nature, I was never as bold as you, Isao…_

_Ah… I never envied you, Brother, not once, that it was you who was chosen king… and during those times, when your heart weighed heavily in your breast, I sighed guiltily with relief often, glad it was not I who had to bear the brunt of guilt… I can't even begin to imagine what I would have done, how I would have coped… yes, you suffered no less than the bereft goddesses… I was there, I held you after the near-battle with Hatate… her near-sacrifice almost destroyed you, you wept and trembled like a young child… 'Would she have… oh, no, no… why?' you cried, 'brother… why… why… why did it have to be me? Why me… you are elder to me, you were supposed to be king… why was I chosen, I don't want this… take this away, this awful burden, this terrible guilt, I cannot bear this, brother!' You beat your fists on my chest and shouted, demanded these things of me… I could say nothing to comfort you, except useless words like 'stop, brother, don't torment yourself this way, come, be strong, you are our king, stop crying…' Couldn't you see, brother, my utter uselessness to you was the reason I was not chosen king? You did bear it all, you took the sorrow of your subjects, hefted it on your shoulders, and after you spent your tears, you pulled yourself to your feet, lifted your head and became strong for_ _them, like a true king, and went to them, to console, and bear their looks of dismay, to listen to their venting, their rants. You held those who, unable to speak, could only cry…_

_But what you did after, how you steeled your heart in order to convince yourself you had done the right thing… did you go too far, O-Ran? It was all too much for you, wasn't it… the pain in the depths of your Hatate's lovely eyes? You blamed it all on Isao, on his disobedience… he, whom you cherished above all your other children had dared to defy you… the symbol of his defiance was his child… To find the strength to go on leading us, you had to expunge your guilt… to do so you chose to forget, pretend that nothing had happened, that Isao had not planted his seed in a mortal woman…_

_And so, one of our own, a child named Kazutaka Muraki, was forgotten, erased from the consciousness of heaven, left by the wayside, only to be embraced by darkness…_

_And you, Masato… you learned that your child had become a Shinigami after his death… what a tragic life that poor child had endured, he and his mother both… hounded and tormented by superstitious mortal folk, branded demons, driven to madness and suicide… how difficult it must have been for you to learn of all he had suffered…_

_Had it not been for the fact that you kept constant tabs on him, following the course of his life in the netherworld, we would never have learned of what befell Kazutaka, whose path also crossed Oriya's through yet another twist of fate…_

_Poor Sanae… what a bittersweet reunion – if I could even call it that… when you went to him in Meifu… you could not even tell him who you are to him, because O-Ran has forbidden it… but, I am thankful he escaped the clutches of darkness…_

_I pray… I pray…? The mortals send their prayers to us… to whom do we send ours? Are there beings greater than ourselves, who can answer prayers and forgive our transgressions? I can only hope there are… with this hope, I pray, that it is not too late for you, Kazutaka… you did not deserve such a cruel fate…_

Iroki was stirred from his contemplations by a sound. It came from his master, a stifled sob. He looked up to find him hunched over, his head bowed. Taken aback by the sight of his teacher in a state he had never before witnessed, he was uncomfortable and wincing. Waves of sadness radiated from the slumped figure, permeating his consciousness. The creatures outside had fallen silent. The youth shook himself, gathered his courage and went to his master's side. He knelt and with both his hands he took hold of the fisted ones that quivered. "Master Eiji," he whispered, "please, don't cry."

Eiji looked up at the boy's anxious face and held on tightly to the small hands, grateful for their warmth and comfort. But he could not staunch it – the steady stream of tears that flowed from his eyes, as if the dam that had contained them for so long had been breached.

* * *

He came awake, cruelly wrenched from the blissful, concluding part of his dream, alone and despairing. 

His crumbling mind could only fixate on that face. He needed him, like a heroin junkie, whimpering and shuddering for a fix.

Before he could be free to die, he needed forgiveness from his bodhisattva.

He dressed in simple, dark clothes and selected the keys of his Maserati…

Renewed shame made him hesitate when he saw his bodhisattva. His hand shook when he pressed it against his chest, feeling his wildly pounding heart inside it. He stared at him, puzzled. His bodhisattva's lips were moving, as though he were speaking with someone… he sensed the presence of someone else… and then he saw the form appearing… he wracked his brain, for he felt he knew who this being was…

_That's right, he's a Shinigami…_ puzzlement turned into shock when he witnessed their passionate embrace…

Until that moment, he had been clinging on to the prospect of the fulfillment of his quest. With that hope dashed to pieces by the reality of the moment – the sight of his bodhisattva's arms embracing someone else – he could only stand there, numb and crushed, as the two figures disappeared from his view.

Kazutaka Muraki cursed himself, his conception, his existence. But all his self-disgust could not control the emotion that followed: the jealous rage that flared and rampaged through him.

With an effort, he tried to close his mind against the visions… of the two of them, stripped of their clothing, pressed together, cavorting amorously…

Alien sensations overcame him. He felt as if his spirit had left his body, which still stood near the tree. He could perceive everything occurring in that room, as if he was actually inside it, a depraved voyeur. He could make out every minute detail. He turned his eyes away from the lovemaking pair on the bed. He saw familiar things; he saw his own face in a photograph on Oriya's dresser, and in front of it was a platinum ring. A hairbrush, strands of long dark hair caught in its bristles. Books piled on the small table in the corner. He stared at the moving shadows on the wall, cast by candlelight, at the clothes strewn on the floor. The sounds from the lovers became more intense, and he restrained his eyes from returning to them, but they were again slowly drawn to the bed, to be punished, tortured by their love play. He did not know if he was actually seeing these things or if they were being fabricated by his mind. Again, he tried to escape them, but the visions persisted, vivid, offensive, hurting him, angering him… and now, the bodhisattva, glorious and exquisite in his debauchery, was whispering with sweetly pouted lips, spreading his long legs, enticing his lover…

The voyeur's most intimate part awoke, ravening… that piece of his flesh, which had brought forth Oriya's cries of pleasure so often when they belonged to each other… cries that were, at that very moment, unbearably loud in his ears, cajoling, demanding, given in response to another's thrusts…

He hissed with self-derision. _What did I expect? That I, a vile sinner, could come here, seek my bodhisattva's forgiveness… and then what? Be taken to his bed?_

When the visions faded, his head ached. His jealousy and desire dulled to a hurt that settled in his heart, became excruciating, as if a spike had been driven into it.

When he could no longer cry, he was lucid and driven. Every cell in his body screamed for revenge, gave him a bizarre pleasure that coursed through his body and intensified, culminating in an orgasmic sensation – a climax to compensate for the one he could not have with his bodhisattva. Once more, he was a monster of revenge.

Brushing the maple leaves from his clothes, a smirk of satisfaction twisted his lips while he laid out his plan in his mind.

"Yes," he whispered, "this will be my last act of revenge."

_To be continued_

* * *

_Oh dear! Hell hath no fury like Kazutaka Muraki scorned?! (sweatdrops) Oh no! What are you going to do now, Kazutaka…?_

_I'm sorry if most of this part was taken up by my original characters, but it was necessary, in order to fill in the gaps concerning the ancestry of Tsuzuki, Oriya and, of course, Muraki. After writing this part, I grew terribly fond of Eiji._

_Until next time, cheers!  
TGO_


	13. Chapter 13

_I would like to extend special greetings to Sueona, Jollyolly, Princess Sin and Chazmy. I'm VERY grateful, and always will be, to each of you for your lovely feedback and kind comments. Knowing how busy everyone is, I'm truly touched and appreciative of the fact that all you beautiful people take the time to post your feedback, which is the main driving force for me to keep going with this project._

_The desire to write this YnM fic, my very first fic posted on took hold of me and wouldn't let me go – whether it's a blessing or a curse, well, at this point, I'm not certain…_

_But seriously, I love writing. The nail biting and angsting over whether what I write will be liked or hated can be killers; stealing time to write when one has to work hard for a living is no fun either, not to mention the exhaustion and burnout… but at the same time, writing is incredibly therapeutic, and if my writing makes people happy, touches them in some good way, then that's a bonus. I've read fanfics that have thrilled me, made me laugh, made me cry. They fill our needs, ease an empty feeling we get when a great series we love comes to an end… yes, whatever will we do without fanfic? Yay to all fanfic writers and readers! Thanks for listening, and without further ado, please enjoy chapter 13 of LOVE AND DARKNESS. I know it must be an excruciating wait for all you MurakiXTsuzuki fans out there, but hold on, k?_

_Disclaimers: Yoko Matsushita owns Yami no Matsuei and the characters therein, all of them as wonderful as she is. This is a work of fiction with no monetary profits gained._

_Rating reminder: This story is rated __**M**_

_Warning for this chapter: __**STRONG LEMON CONTENT! **__The characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18._

* * *

**_Love and darkness  
__Part Thirteen_**

**_Chapter one: the Shinigami and the Samurai_**

Faculties spinning, Yutaka Watari the Shinigami, novitiate in the art of sexual proficiency, entered  
a world where Oriya Mibu, an enigmatic, living relic of an era past, seduced him, lavishing sensual delights on him without reserve…

Oriya's hand released him long enough for him to remove his boots. Leaving them beside the samurai's sandals, he looked up into the stare of half-lidded eyes charged with desire. Once he stepped through the doorway, he was allowed enough time to sweep his eyes over the spacious room.

Though bemused by the unexpected turn of events – his beloved's return of affection – the veteran Shinigami's highly competent skills of observation served him well, confirming that it was Oriya's living room, where his beloved spent his leisure hours. It certainly had a lived in' appearance – all sorts of items were strewn across the floor around the low table: books, periodicals, pens, pencils, balled up paper, sheets of paper covered with scribbling and sketches. On the table lay a few wooden blocks of various sizes, several small knives and wood chippings. A nearly completed carving of a fine-looking equine caught his attention. His realization of the fact that the wooden horse had been wrought by Oriya's hands filled him with reverence; he moved to the table, intending to pick it up and run his fingers over the exquisite carving, but the man shadowing him had other intentions.

Arms caught him; he was spun round and kissed, Oriya's mouth commencing a renewed onslaught. His scarf was whipped off, baring his neck for the attentions of questing lips. His head tilted back for the taller man's nibbling, upper body bent backwards, Watari felt the pressure, of the arms locked around him, and, of a hard column against his belly. His beloved's mouth moved to his ear, whispering his name… "I've dreamed of this, holding you… making love to you…" The blond moaned…

A noise, of doors sliding open, and a cheery salutation, gave the Shinigami a considerable fright. Oriya calmly separated his mouth from his neck and lifted his head at the interruption.

"Good evening, master. Forgive my intrusion; I thought you were still in the garden. Good evening, sir."

The Shinigami's wide eyes blinked at the sight of Yoshida's grinning face. Oriya's valet stood at the entrance to an inner corridor, dusting brush and wastebasket in hand. All the blond managed to accomplish was a nod of his head at the servant's greeting while trying to disengage himself out of the compromising position he was caught in. Totally unabashed, Oriya slackened his hold but kept his arm coiled around his waist.

Unaffected and pokerfaced at his master's _deshabille_ and bare chest – the top of his _yukata_ had slipped off his shoulders – the servant enquired if he needed anything. Watari felt fingers caressing along his spine as he heard Oriya request for supper for two to be laid out in the dining room, and, for the bath to be made ready, in an hour. His voice was thickened and breathless when he dismissed Yoshida with an instruction that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the night. The Shinigami's face burned from embarrassment when the valet's gaze flitted to him and then back to his master, a knowing smirk quirking his mouth as he stepped aside for them, Oriya ushering him into the corridor.

After the chilled autumn air of the garden, the pleasant warmth of the bedroom of the proprietor of Kokakuro was conducive to fleshly pursuits. Watari's eyes were immediately drawn to the bed, blood rushing to his groin. Again, reverence washed though him, mixing with desire while he stared at the place where his beloved lay his head and body down to sleep. Shyly, he met Oriya's eyes.

Fixed to where he stood by lust-darkened eyes, he was set upon, wrenched into the powerful crush of the multi-faceted man's arms, his lips captured by bruising kisses. Dogged hands made quick work of stripping him of his clothes and steering him to the bed. There, reclining on satin sheets, aromatic with scents of clove and aniseed, Watari committed to memory the Samurai Extraordinaire, robe falling away, standing in all his singular, naked beauty before him. He noticed for the first time, a thin braid of multi-colored string around an ankle, and found this adornment incredibly arousing. Transfixed, he ogled at the expanse of pale skin on body and limbs, contours of abs, the smooth chest, heaving with breathing accelerated by his beloved's urges. A portion of his inhibitions lurking in his psyche was obliterated when his eyes absorbed the magnificent proof of his manhood, sprouting from the shadow of luxuriant, dark fleece.

As soon as Oriya placed his knee on the bed, the Shinigami's hands seized him by his hips; his lips latched on to it, taking possession of it as best he could with his warm, drooling mouth. The modern-day samurai sighed deeply; holding the blond's head, he shifted slowly to lie sprawled on his back and caress golden strands, charmed by Watari's rapt face, soft whimpers, by his ministrations – sweetly timid, but so touchingly eager…

Following this tasty _entrée_, the blond was invited, bluntly and in no uncertain terms, to partake of the main course, which lay secreted in the swordsman's body between firm globes of flesh. His willingness was blunted by his inexperience, and he dithered nervously when the doorway to this place was flaunted, raised hips sashaying provocatively, fingers stroking and delving seductively to entice him, cooing and coaxing.

Rather than rousing repulsion, Oriya's shameless conduct and salacious whispers dazzled and flattered him, conquering all the vestiges of his inhibitions, annihilating ingrained and trained patterns of thought and behavior… inciting an irrepressible need to oblige and satisfy the man he loved…

"I've never… I don't know how… to…" he declared, softly, eyes lowered.

His words were cut off by the samurai's kiss.

Oriya took hold of the Shinigami's erect horn, purring as he slathered it with lube. Cooing softly, he drew the blond close against him and inserted it for him. Watari's initial, awkward movements were endured patiently with encouragements, until he heard a drawn-out hiss, ensued by a moan originating deep in his lover's throat, sure indications that he was performing correctly. From then on, he needed no further instruction – Oriya's cries of enjoyment, and the erotic spectacle of him stroking and yanking on his luscious shaft egged him on while he lost himself in pleasure…

Spent of their passion, they lay entwined in blissful lethargy. Then came the words of love, husky whispers expressed with sighs and more kisses…

_At last, I've found love… with him, he's mine! He loves me…  
If I was asked to describe my feelings, I wouldn't be able to…  
Words would fail to convey them…  
The pleasure of his body…  
Nothing I've ever done to myself for release comes close to what he's given to me…_

These were the Shinigami's thoughts as his eyelids drooped, before he surrendered to sleep, nestled against his newfound lover…

Sometime before dawn, he awoke. It took him some seconds to become aware of where he was, of whose chest his head was pillowed against, whose heart pulsed beneath his ear. Recalling the heady session of lovemaking with the man whose arms held him, he sighed with deep contentment. Gently, he extricated himself from that possessive embrace to turn and lie on his back.

Roused from his doze by the Shinigami's movements, Oriya shifted and sat up abruptly, alarmed. He too had to take some moments to come to awareness.

"Come here… did you have a bad dream?"

Arms reached for him to pull him close. Soothed by Watari's voice, he collapsed limply against naked warmth, quivering from the Shinigami's shower of kisses. He shook his head, his fingers caressing the fine golden down on the arms around his chest. "No," he murmured, "I was afraid… I thought for a moment that all that took place… you, here with me… had been a dream." He turned his head to seek out the eyes of the luminous, golden god on his bed, saw them twinkling in the soft glow of candlelight, heavy with adoration, a trace of lingering shyness that enchanted him. His lover nuzzled at his neck, bit him playfully but forcefully enough to draw a yelp from him.

"That was to prove you're wide awake, that this is no dream, that I'm really here."

"Stay with me till morning," whispered Oriya, against soft lips that parted for his tongue.

The ecstasy of their languorous kisses kindled fresh arousal.

Unexpectedly, Watari found himself pinned beneath the strapping strength of the body that earlier had been so submissive, yielding to his thrusts, undulating like a supple sylph. His neck was nipped and licked while fingers tweaked his nipples. Growling lustily, Oriya pressed his lengthened member against his. In a dance of desire, they worked their hips, rubbing their cocks together. The master swordsman settled between svelte thighs. Squirming, the Shinigami reached for sheaves of dark tresses arrayed across his thighs to caress them while his lover's tongue teased and pleasured him. He gazed, enthralled by the view – lips, the ones that had driven him crazy with their kisses, ringed around his cock; being drawn inside that grasping mouth, pulled out, in a continuous hypnotic rhythm. Drunk on his first experience of being suckled, his entire length sheathed as the entrance of Oriya's throat yielded for him, he felt the tingling vibrations of his lover's muffled groans against the skin of his shaft. He couldn't hold back any longer and yelled, his come pumping down the samurai's throat.

While that incredible orifice gently released him, he evoked a mental image of hours ago – of the samurai in heat. Recalling the dizzying pleasure of plunging his cock into the sultry sweetness between Oriya's lengthy, voluptuous thighs, he went mad with desire, craving to grip that beautiful shank of flesh as it thrust into him, return the pleasure he had received, wring the spurt of cream from it. But, he swallowed his request, struck with bashfulness again.

Oriya, licking up all traces of his gush from his penis like a greedy feline, knew precisely what he desired, having received the fantasized scenes from his lover's thoughts; lurid visions slammed into his mind – images of himself, driving into the preserved innocence of his flesh, making Oriya's cock leak and twitch. His hand fell to stroke and sooth it temporarily. Breath rasping, he restrained his lust, holding himself back from grabbing his angel's exquisite legs and pushing his cock into that virgin cleft. Instead, he licked his lips and slid his hand between the curves of Watari's ass while the blond was still occupied with his fantasies and recovering from his explosive orgasm.

When he touched the little pucker, the blond, though wincing and reddening from a fresh attack of embarrassment, parted his thighs wider in stages until his opening was fully displayed. Oriya smiled with delight and applied his tongue generously to the tender lips until his lover lay limp, ready to take the next step, allowing his lubricated finger to ease through the tight ring of flesh. Murmuring endearments, he teased the sweltering passage tenderly, slowly sliding in another digit when he felt his lover finally relax, intent on thoroughly preparing him. Wanting pleasure to assuage pain and discomfort, he initiated him to the indescribable ecstasy of male coitus by targeting the place within him, giving him a tantalizing foretaste of things to come, drawing sobs of pleasure.

His angel was pleading for more at this juncture; the fine features on that adorable face were set in a grimace of sexual rapture, lost in sensations elicited by Oriya's languidly massaging fingers, totally stripped of self-consciousness and all decorum. Legs thrashing, pert bottom bucking, Watari presented a mouth-watering picture to his spectator, a sight that stoked his lust to further intensity. He withdrew his fingers carefully, his groin aching in anticipation of fucking this splendid Shinigami, splayed and panting for him while he lubricated his length. He lay down on top of him, kissed those delectable crimson lips, maneuvering the lissome body into position. With trembling thighs clamped around his waist, he gradually eased himself into his lover's vestal aperture, touched and grateful for the honor granted him, allowing him to be the first to perform this intimate act with him. Their lips still joined, Oriya drove his tongue forcefully into the Shinigami's mouth to distract him, deliriously aroused by his simultaneous possession of both of his lover's orifices, while inching, sliding his cock all the way inside him, groaning from the pleasurable pressure of his tight grip.

The blond beauty beneath him cried out and shuddered when he felt that long thick cock fill and stretch him and Oriya remained motionless, soughed adoring words into his ear, relieved that his lover resisted the instinctive urge to jerk and twist away from his assault, thus avoiding being torn. He resumed his kissing of the succulent mouth, waiting for the Shinigami's body to relax, for his breathing to slow down, giving him all the time he needed to accept the invasion of his ample cock – the last thing he wanted was to draw blood, and he peeked mentally into his lover's head to see if there was any evidence of second thoughts. Finding none, only a sense of euphoria instead, he separated his lips from Watari's, so he could capture and preserve his expression to memory: flushed skin, pink tongue lolling between parted lips… tears squeezed out of the corners of eyes clamped shut…

This last detail greatly upset him.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "you're in pain…" His tongue lapped at the tears.

Warm candied breath wafted from his angel's mouth as his eyes opened. Within amber jewels, love blazed. "Only a little… but it's such a sweet pain… make it even sweeter, Oriya."

With that breathy command, Watari began leisurely rocking his hips. It was Oriya's turn to shudder and shout…

* * *

**_Chapter two: reflections and vicissitudes_**

Enma stood at the large, paneled window, regarding the three figures on the grounds of the main judiciary building of Hades, situated in the center of the huge complex comprising Meifu's Justice Hall and its annexes.

Three floors down, the Shinigami who walked between Konoe and the Shadow Master still seemed wound up, gesticulating animatedly as he conversed with his companions. When he stopped walking, shaking his head before lowering it, Konoe's hand rose to rest on his shoulder. As the overwrought guardian of death stood there, listening to whatever it was his section head was saying to him, Enma felt a presence beside him.

He cast a sidelong glance at the deity by his side. Except for his greater height and black hair, the profile in his sight was identical to Tsuzuki's. If the long wavy hair was cropped, Masato could easily pass as Asato's older brother. It was only when Enma looked at Masato squarely in the face could he discern differences. Whereas Masato's features were sharper, more robust and masculine, his son's had been softened by his mother's looks. The mortal woman who had given birth to Asato had been an outstanding beauty and her son had inherited the best of his parents' fine looks.

Enma, who made a hobby of noting how children resembled their parents, sighed inwardly at the remembrance of the rare color of Tsuzuki's eyes, his most arresting feature – mother's dark brown and father's lavender had produced that exquisite hue of the finest amethysts.

While Masato observed his son from afar, Enma glanced over his left shoulder at Isao, who had folded his tall frame into an armchair, hair falling around him like a cloak. The king of Hades felt twinges of residual amazement.

_Kazutaka Muraki! Who would have thought…!_

Although Enma had not revealed his astonishment when Masato had introduced his nephew to him, and at the revelations in O-Ran's communiqué, he was still reeling somewhat from the discovery of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki's lineage. He watched Isao's face turn to Nagi, standing rigidly by the chair, in response to the latter's hushed words, giving him a full view of the visage of the First Prince, whom he had never encountered before that morning…

Upon Enma's first visit to the heavens, after his ascension to the throne of Hades, becoming Enma XV, O-Ran's eldest son had not been present at the ceremony of his acceptance of the celestial emperor's scepter, a customary rite for all new rulers of Meifu. Nor had he seen him during subsequent visits. Although he had certainly heard of the comely 'snow prince' – a handle he had acquired because of his coloring – Isao had been noticeably and mysteriously absent from the palace, whereas O-Ran's six other sons and only daughter had always graced the formal events and banquets held in Enma's honor. The previous king of Meifu had disclosed to Enma that the first prince possessed a remarkable singing voice and almost always performed a song or two at formal functions, sometimes accompanied by his mother, the queen playing the lute, harp, flute or other instruments, while a beaming O-Ran looked on approvingly. The newly crowned king of the netherworld, a keen music enthusiast, had been greatly disappointed by not having had the pleasure of meeting the patron god of music and hearing him sing.

He took up his hobby keenly once more, discreetly studying the prince out of the corners of his eyes, not wishing to appear discourteous by staring at him openly. He was nothing short of fascinated, for the reason that in his study of family resemblance, here was another story altogether, something he had not previously encountered while pursuing his pastime…

Enma was not unfamiliar with Kazutaka Muraki's appearance, having seen photographs of him on his computer files, ever since the man had begun his audacious, wicked exploits, more times than he would have liked to, in truth.

And now, here in this very room… not so far away from him was… Kazutaka Muraki's face! The resemblance was chillingly frightening, in a fascinating way to Lord Enma. Absolutely nothing of his mother could be perceived in that icily handsome face he'd seen on his monitor screen.

_His mother… _ He remembered her, standing before him with the translucence of the newly dead, still and silent, with empty eyes… the cause of her death had been listed as illness… he was told by her keeper, or Sentinel, that she never spoke but sometimes sang disjointed words in the tune of a popular lullaby… checking up on her background, he discovered that before she married, she had been a concert pianist, but had never performed again after her marriage… he had drawn a complete blank when he searched her mind for memories… she hadn't been aware of his presence or heard him when he spoke to her… a wilted, fragile flower, an aura of melancholy surrounding her… her frailty had been made all the more pronounced by the translucence of her form… he remembered thinking that if he directed his breath at her, she might have disintegrated into nothingness.

Enma's evaluation of her had been: soul fragmentation, a common condition of those who had died young, or those who had left something, or someone, of significant importance, behind – more than often it turned out to be _someone_. _Something_, with some exceptions such as death by violence and unnatural causes, invariably meant the incompletion, of an important project close to one's heart before death, of one's lifework – unfinished business. She had been placed in the care of the Counselors, and slated for reincarnation to strengthen the constitution of her soul if she responded to treatment and eventually recovered…

She had recovered, and as she had, it was learned that the _someone_ she had left behind, the sole reason for her existence, however tragically short it had been, had been her son… _the child whose father was sitting right there…_

The differences between parent and child were to be found in other aspects. Again, as in Tsuzuki's case, Isao's height exceeded his son's. O-Ran's hair was of a pure silver color, Isao's, pure white. Both these hues had determined the shade of Kazutaka's hair – a combination of the two shades. As for the eyes… Isao's, fascinating in themselves, had the appearance of colorless quartz crystals. When these startling eyes captured light, as they did at that moment, they looked like tiny stars rather than eyes, and far outshone the jewels set in the rings Isao wore. His child's remaining, natural eye – some mishap or other, the details of which were undisclosed, had caused the loss of one of Kazutaka's eyes, Enma recalled – was silvery gray. Because of the agelessness of the gods upon attaining maturity, it was interesting to Enma that Isao's unlined face seemed more youthful, smooth as polished marble, than that of his son, who, being half-mortal, appeared as a mortal man in his prime. Tsuzuki, he considered, by reason of his early death, had retained his boyish looks. His somber clothes did nothing to influence or lessen his almost-adolescent appearance.

A soft sigh from Masato brought his scrutiny of Isao to a close and he turned his eyes back to the trio near the pavilion. Tatsumi and Tsuzuki appeared to be engaged in a heated argument. Tsuzuki's fists were bunched; Tatsumi's finger stabbed the air, the quarreling pair paying no mind to Konoe's earnest attempts at refereeing. Enma resisted the temptation to listen in, deciding to spare his sanity and conserve his mental energy, since he had a lot to think about after the day's events. He almost laughed aloud at Tsuzuki's antics – hands flailing, face glowering… at that point, he was stopping up his ears with his hands to block out the Shadow Master's words.

Enma's eyes met Masato's and both shook their heads in unison. The sovereign of Meifu raised an indicative hand at the window.

"Behold, your son, Lord Masato… never mind the fact that he looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel. After his eloquent performance today, you must be very proud of him, and well you should be."

Masato responded with a small smile, pride indeed swelling his heart.

Enma let his hand drop and strode to where Isao sat and seated himself on the couch opposite the prince, who seemed much calmer than he had been upon his arrival in Meifu earlier that day. He returned the prince's austere smile with a warm one. While loosening his tie and crossing his trousered legs, he glanced over at Masato, who was still gazing out the window. In contrast to the ancient, traditional style of dress of the celestial deities, Enma preferred the contemporary clothes of modern mortal men. He adopted immortal fashions only when he was visiting their realm.

"What's happening down there, Masato?"

The god turned away from the window. "My son has just stormed off in a fit of pique," he replied, an expression of dismay stamped on his face. Patting the couch at a place beside him in an invitation to Isao's uncle to sit, Enma spoke soothingly. "He'll be fine once he's cooled off. Seiichiro, although overly stern, always means well, and acts in Asato's best interests. He would never admit it, but he cares a great deal about him. I approve of his protectiveness; he's there for him when I can't be…"

Here, Enma stopped, kicking himself mentally for opening Masato's old wound. Quickly, he sought to lessen the deity's pain. His hand came to rest on Masato's knee briefly. "This is where Asato has chosen to stay, as a Shinigami, for now. While he's here, you can be sure that he's well cared for, by me, Konoe and Seiichiro, who is a necessary tether to your son's volatile temperament." An affectionate chuckle rumbled in Enma's throat while he fingered the short black bristles at his jawline.

"Unruly, annoyingly unpredictable at times, laid back yet focused when he needs to be… clumsy and yet laden with grace, charisma and compassion, as you saw for yourself today."

Masato's eyes stared off into the distance, nodding his head slowly, remembering the day his ruined heart had been restored to wholeness…

_He had been taking some moments of soul rest – true immortals never truly sleep. After gathering stalks of newly bloomed blue iris blossoms from his garden, a place where he found solace, bringing forth flowering plants from the soil, he had placed the blooms in a vase, intending to present them to Sanae the following day, which was her birthday, these blue flowers being her favorites. _

_He had just picked up his flute when he heard his name being yelled repeatedly._

"_Eijisho…?"_

_He stepped out from his parlor on to his balcony. Looking over the railing, he spotted the Prince Royal, bright yellow hair and garments fluttering as he loped towards Masato's lodgings. Gawping with incredulity at the deity scaling the wall of his house, like a great, long-limbed gibbon by way of the vines that grew along it, he shook his head with exasperation, wondering why Eiji couldn't have just sprung to his balcony, or enter his house normally, through his front door, even if he hadn't felt like flying or spiriting, the normal modes of immortal transportation. 'Trust Eijisho to always make a dramatic entrance!' When the king's brother reached the side of the balcony, he swung himself onto it, his landing incredibly graceful for someone with such an imposing physique. Eiji's face was colored with excitement as he closed the distance between them and pinned Masato in an enthusiastic embrace, lifting him bodily off his feet and proceeding to hop around, shouting, "I, Eijisho, bring wonderful tidings to thee, Harvest God!"_

"_Put me down at once, and tell me what all this is about in a composed manner, Eiji!"_

_He was set down but was not released from Eiji's bear hug. Only at Masato's insistence was he finally freed. The god of scholars did not sit on the chair indicated but chose instead to seat himself on the floor by Masato's feet. Eiji then launched into his account, which had proved too lengthy and detailed for Masato's liking. Disinclined to hurt his erudite kinsman's feelings, he had exercised his patience and had quelled his urge to yell, "Get to the point!" _

_That morning, Eiji began, he had gone to Meifu's library to return some books. He was often there, because unlike their's, Eiji pointed out, Meifu's had a wide selection of books from the mortal world. Intending to borrow more, he had been browsing through a book when someone entered the aisle in which he stood. He heard a greeting, cheerful but respectful, and pulled his eyes from the book in his hands to the bowing figure. When this being, who had obviously recognized him as a deity, hence his deferential behavior, straightened, revealing his face, Eiji had dropped his book, eyes popping. Suddenly realizing his lack of manners, he'd stammered his greetings and slowly backed away from the smiling man with glittering eyes. Spotting the fallen book, Eiji hurriedly lunged forward to retrieve it and placed it back on the shelf with fumbling hands, backed away again wordlessly from the now baffled man, whose hand rose to scratch the back of his head. The deity, inching his way backwards, detected the anxiety rising in the man's thoughts, wondering if he had done or said something to offend the god; he'd then become self-conscious, checking his face for possible remnants of the breakfast he's consumed that morning… _

"_I feel really bad about it now," Eiji had said. "Anyway, it couldn't be helped, it was imperative for me to make my exit, which I did, um, rather rambunctiously, causing an uproar among the librarians…" He'd bounded off to Enma's chambers, where, at his request, the lord of Meifu had brought up the relevant file on his computer. Enma, well acquainted with Eiji's eccentricities, had not asked any questions, merely engaging him in polite conversation while he fiddled with that wondrous, magical machine. Finally, there, on the monitor, was all the information Eiji sought…_

_Grabbing his hands, Eiji had exclaimed, "He was your son, Asato! I have absolutely no doubts about it! Enma told me that he's a Shinigami…"_

_Masato, holding fast to the large hands, light headed, thoughts reeling, had asked tremulously, scarcely daring to believe, "Can this be true…?"_

_Eijisho had pulled him to his feet. "Come with me to Meifu. See him with your own eyes…"_

_Hidden behind a decorative screen in Enma's office, the pair of them had stolen peeks at the Shinigami, who had been summoned there by a pretense of Meifu's king. Enma, pretending to study a file, had made the poor man stew and squirm as he stood in front of Enma's desk. Eiji had truly sympathized when a nervous Tsuzuki, believing he was in hot soup for some gaffe on his part, had fidgeted, and fussing with his shirt collar, meekly remarked that it was unusually hot in there…_

_The proof – of whom his mother had been, and the man himself – overwhelmed and brought Masato to his knees, weeping, and he and Eiji had clung ecstatically to each other, unashamedly shedding tears of happiness under the gaze of Enma's calm, black eyes._

_The whole truth of Tsuzuki's parentage was then revealed to Enma…_

_After that joyful day, Masato had regularly visited Meifu, to observe his son from afar and to obtain updates of his life. During one of his sojourns there, Enma had seemed distracted and morose when he had called on him. Sitting at his desk, the king's face was darkened with anger._

"_I fear I am imposing upon you, Enma. Forgive me if I am. You seem displeased. What vexes you?"_

"_Forgive me, Lord Masato. You are always welcome to call on me at any time. I fear this day has been most upsetting. One of my Shinigami was abducted by a mortal, and we have just learned that this was done in order to lure your son into the clutches of this kidnapper, who is, of all things, a doctor!"_

_Masato had leapt to his feet. "What?! Where is Asato now?!"_

_Lord Enma had managed to calm his guest, coaxing him into sitting down again. "I would have alerted you, but I wanted to spare you the worry. My men are watching the situation closely. As we speak, Asato is on his way to rescue this Shinigami, who is his partner, in fact…"_

_His visitor recoiled. "Will he be…?"_

"_I assure you he is more than capable of handling the situation. I have no doubts that in a contest between one of my Shinigami and a mere mortal, my man will emerge the winner. Honestly, to think that a mortal would dare to touch one of my people! Well, he's not going to get away with it, I can tell you…"_

"_Who is this mortal, and why on earth would he want Asato?!"_

_Emitting a snarl, Enma reached for the monitor on his desk and turned it around so that Masato could see the screen. He saw Masato's body start, color draining from his face as he stared at the screen._

_Enma had let Masato's reaction slide, thinking he was merely concerned for his son's safety, and replied, "This… this… person! His name is Kazutaka Muraki. His motive for wanting to nab Asato is unknown at this time. We have discovered that it was this man, through his own smug confession to Asato, who murdered his partner, by sadistic and despicable means, employing a spell… for a mortal, it is surprising that he's capable of such a feat…"_

'_This is no mere mortal, Enma,' thought Masato at the time, feeling physically ill. In his turn, he had the unenviable and unpleasant task of going to Isao with a heavy, pounding heart, miserable at being the bearer of such grim and disturbing news. It was fortunate he had seen fit to bring Eijisho with him. Because of the prince's adulation of his paternal uncle, Eiji had been the only one who had managed to restrain his nephew when he went berserk…_

_With fresh reports of his son's deeds, confirming that he was a serial murderer, the prince, all but disowned by his father, had succumbed to severe depression…_

_The news of Lord Enma's death warrant for Isao's child stirred Masato, Eijisho and Sanae into enlisting Empress Hatate's help in breaking down O-Ran's obstinate refusal to pardon his son, acknowledge the existence of his grandson and to appeal to Enma to revoke the order of execution imposed on him. Nagi's expressionless face hid his own distress. Having harbored a secret passion for Isao for a long time, the enforcer general had embarked on his own mission to re-unite father and son…_

Enma's low voice brought Masato back to the present.

"… a charming conundrum. He plays the part of a laughing fool to hide his razor-sharp mind. He dons a clown's mask to eclipse all the pain and guilt he still carries in his heart. I fear it may take a while yet for him to lay these to rest."

"Yes, I know," whispered Masato.

"Don't be troubled. I have kept my promise to you, Masato, since that day you told me he was your son, and now, I renew that promise. As long as he's here, I will continue to be a surrogate father to him."

Masato dipped his head graciously. "I thank you, Lord Enma."

During this discourse between the god of the harvest and Enma, the latter had been aware of the First Prince's eyes on him, twin arrows of white-hot flame. The heat of that unwavering gaze held no threat, Enma knew, but lingering worry and a desperate hope. It communicated a deep ache to see his child, touch him, and, grown man though his son was, cradle him in his arms, kiss away all his hurt, sing him to sleep, pour forth the flood of his paternal love upon him, do all the things he had been denied…

After Tsuzuki, Konoe and Tatsumi left the Great Hall earlier that morning, he would have fallen to his knees to beg for his son's life had an aghast Enma not stopped him in time. Filled with pity for him, he met those colorless eyes with his kindly gaze.

"Your highness, I repeat my promise to you. Your son's life will be spared. Our highest priority now will be to search out and destroy the nameless demon, thereby extricating Kazutaka from his control, and most importantly, to save his soul."

The deity he addressed rose at once and glided to where Enma sat, prompting the king to stand. His hands were clasped and squeezed. Relief and gratitude marked the prince's face as he made a great effort to speak.

"I, and my father both, thank you for your compassion…"

"Please, no thanks are necessary. I understand the magnitude of the love for your child. If I have to destroy this demon myself, I will, for seducing your son by means of deceit, as well as for all the souls he filched."

The prince nodded. "We will take our leave now, Lord Enma. Please… keep me posted of Kazutaka…"

"Certainly. Please convey my salutations to your father and mother."

"I will, thank you."

Nagi swiftly came to stand at the prince's side, and Enma, with amused interest, noted the smile on the general's face, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless. It was a first for Enma and, in all probability, for Nagi as well; it was widely known that O-Ran's chief enforcer never ever smiled.

Enma was left, alone with his thoughts, after the three vanished, spiriting themselves back to their realm.

Whether it had been Isao's heartbroken plea or his Shinigami's championing that led him to change his mind over the fate of Kazutaka Muraki, Enma was uncertain. Perhaps, it had been both of these factors. Whichever, it did not matter, Enma decided, because he wasn't troubled but at ease, convinced he had made the right decision.

The closing part of Tsuzuki's oratory that morning rang out in his head as he made his way to his office…

"I will destroy that demon that binds him, and set him free. Give him a chance to turn his life around, great Sovereign. When his life is over, let him be judged when he stands before you. If you should still deem his sins to be his own when he stands in your honorable court, then weigh them against his deeds of atonement. I will stake my life upon it – that he will atone, and that his deeds of repentance will far outweigh his sins."

What he said after those words was not voiced aloud, but spoken in his mind, picked up by Lord Enma, the two deities and their enforcer…

_'I beg you, grant him this chance, with the same compassion you bestowed upon me, when I finally stood before you… when I was sane enough to do so… Not a day has gone by without me feeling gratitude to you… I will never forget your kindnesses… I have been honored to be your servant. Forgive my breach of protocol and thank you for hearing me out, my Lord.'_

His personal aide greeted him on his arrival at his office.

"Good evening, Jujiro."

While his aide divested him of his jacket, he enquired, "Will you return to your residence tonight, Sire?"

"No, I must read the files of the souls who will appear in my court tomorrow. Are they on my desk?"

"Yes, milord. I will bring your meal to you…"

"Tea will suffice. Oh, and summon Noriko and Asahi. Tell them to be prepared to work with me till the morning."

Jujiro promptly scurried off to attend to his tasks.

Awaiting the arrival of his assistants, Lord Enma relaxed, stealing a few moments of peace after settling himself at his desk. Reaching for the remote control, he turned on his sound system. He closed his eyes, listening to the music of Dvorak resonating in the room…

From their opening, delicate notes, the trills of the violins gradually accelerated, became frenzied… and then slowed, softened…

When he heard the clash of cymbals, followed by the booming of bass drums, his third eye saw him, his Shinigami, as he had appeared while uttering his final words that morning… there was his face, in calm repose; but his eyes… within them, smoldering flames… testimony to his resolve.

"It's become personal for you, hasn't it?" whispered Enma, as the rippling notes of the piano solo frolicked, gained vigor, progressing into a crescendo…

The lord of the netherworld's chest rose and fell with his even breathing.

"What an unexpected turn of events," he murmured. "Grandson of the emperor… this man was your arch nemesis… yet you, Tsuzuki, nephew of the empress, have now chosen the role of a chivalrous knight, bent on destroying a demon to rescue your prince…"

The blaring of trumpets sounded in a rousing fanfare…

* * *

Asato Tsuzuki, in a dark funk brought on by Tatsumi's reprimand, stalked sulkily back to Shinigami headquarters in search of his partner. He found him, slouched at his desk, munching on a sandwich. Hisoka Kurosaki glanced up at his entry, noting the scowl on his face as he approached. 

"Heard from Daisuke?" called out the Shinigami before the boy managed to form his question.

"Nope. That means Muraki's still holed up in his apartment. He said he'd call us soon as he made a move…"

Coming to a halt at Hisoka's desk, the older of the two considered his partner, eyebrows twitching. "You're sure he can handle surveillance on Muraki?"

"Pretty much… besides, we don't have much of a choice, since you don't want anyone from our unit handling the watch on him. He can be trusted to keep a secret too, so you don't have to worry about him blabbing off about Muraki's location. The other two sweepers he called in to cover the back entrance of the building and the car park exit are apparently thick with him, so they won't go mouthing off either. Don't worry, I don't think he's gonna screw up on this job; he's hoping to score some points with you so you can put in a good word for his transfer…"

Tsuzuki quirked an eyebrow, "He told you that?"

"Sure as hell did."

"Well now… quite the opportunist, isn't he? I guess I don't mind, as long as he does what I need him to."

The boy offered a sandwich to his partner before reaching for his mug of tea.

"No, thanks. Too wound up to eat."

"I noticed," remarked Hisoka, picking up an orange and commencing to strip the fruit of its rind, releasing sprays of a tangy citrus scent into the air.

The older Shinigami seated himself on Hisoka's desk, watching the boy at his peeling work, separating the segments, popping one into his mouth. Juice dribbled out of the corner of the boy's mouth, tempting Tsuzuki, so that he reached over and plucked a wedge of the succulent fruit from his partner's hands. The taste of the cool fruit was soothing as it was refreshing to the man whose nerves and emotions were interwoven tighter than the fibers of a scouring pad. He was remembering the revolting sound of his fist bashing against Muraki's head. He winced, as much as from that recollection as from the twinge in a corner of his jaw, a reaction to the slight sourness of the last of the orange pulp sliding down his throat.

"So he went straight back to his apartment after leaving the hotel? Hard to believe, after that injury I gave him… thought he would've gone to a hospital…"

"I was thinking the same thing… from what I saw, that was some whack you landed on him, enough to kill… it's a wonder he could even stand after that… don't forget though, this is Muraki we're talking about, so who knows, he probably stitched himself up," Hisoka finished with a half-hearted laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.

The man seated on his desk snapped his eyes shut, body twitching involuntarily from unwanted memories, his hand rising to clamp over his mouth, another reflexive action to quell his sudden queasiness. Not wanting his partner to notice his discomfort, the Shinigami pulled himself together, but the youth at his side was not paying attention to him. Stealing a quick glance at him, Tsuzuki saw the still hands and vacant eyes of the youth as he turned his sight inwards.

"He radiated… such intense power… when I first… saw him… that night…"

Tsuzuki clamped his eyes shut again, and turned away. He did not want to be drawn into those green orbs, by the pained whispers, as the adolescent guardian of death re-lived those terror-filled moments… the prelude to the last three, agony-filled years of his life…

"I thought I was seeing a super-natural being, a specter… under that tree… after he let her lifeless body slide to the ground, he bent over her and blew her a kiss… he cooed, with outstretched arms, 'I bid you goodnight as you drift into eternal sleep, my lovely doll.' Even though he'd already seen me, watching them, he paid no mind to me, at that point. He seemed to be weeping over her; his shoulders shook as he stood there with his head bowed. I tried to move, to run, I knew I had to get away at once, but I was paralyzed… he turned his head slowly to focus on me, he had this leering grin on his face and I saw that strange glass eye of his, red, reflecting light… it was horrifying and yet fascinating… he moved, agonizingly slowly, towards me, and I still could not move to save myself… he stopped, tilted his head to regard me, I couldn't see his face then, it was hidden in shadow. He lifted his hand, dripping with blood, the blood of that woman that lay on the ground behind him… I felt tears of fright slide down my cheeks, wanting to scream but nothing came out of my throat… I saw him lap at the blood with his tongue… I shut my eyes, in the hope that this waking nightmare would end when I opened them… But he was still there; I felt great waves of hatred and anger surge towards me, to envelop me… He let his head drop backwards, and laughed, a wicked, taunting sound… 'run, little rabbit,' he said, 'let's see how fast and far you can run before the big bad fox catches you.' Still I stood there, shaking… and then it seemed that whatever it was that stopped me from moving fell away from me, and I began to run, really fast, to my home, where I would be safe from this white clad demon… I saw the outline of the roof of my house, ahead of me… I was sobbing as I stepped onto the path that led to it, trying to call out for help… when I ran right smack into him… he had appeared, from nowhere… I felt his hands, strong as iron, take hold of my arms… I smelled the blood on his clothes… I became woozy, and felt myself lifted… he whispered in my ear, 'What a fortunate night for me.' I nearly threw up when he touched my cheek with those cool lips, sticky with blood…"

Tsuzuki waited with bated breath for the youth to continue. He heard the deep intake of breath, and only then did he turn to look at his partner, reluctantly.

"Come to think of it, I wonder if… that demon was inside of him…"

The slender shoulders beneath blue woolen fabric shrugged. Hisoka gave himself a shake, his eyes become focused once more as he reached for the remainder of the fruit and stuffed a piece of it into his mouth.

The unsteady fingers of the older Shinigami picked up the clear, glass star-shaped paperweight that lay on top of a stack of papers. "You… like stars, don't you? Even when you doodle, you always draw stars…"

"Yeah… I wanted to be an astronomer… when I grew up… Huh, it's funny isn't it? A star's actual appearance is nothing like that pretty, stylized shape," Hisoka eyes flitted to the paperweight resting in his partner's joined hands, "up close, stars are just shapeless masses, almost ugly to behold… To me, a star has always been an accurate analogy for someone who is outwardly beautiful but hideous on the inside…"

Their eyes met and locked. A pang of shame lanced the older Shinigami's heart.

_ Is he… referring to Muraki…? He must be. He was only just now remembering their first meeting… is he trying to tell me something…? Does he know…?_

Tsuzuki's eyes were laden with misery while they searched the younger's eyes, and saw the fleeting emotion behind them, that spoke of loss, of something he could never ever get back. Inwardly cringing, he averted his eyes, toying restlessly with the paperweight, beating back the shame and guilt swelling within his consciousness. Behind his eyes he saw the face of the man he was in love with. A montage of images from their past encounters paraded before his inner vision.

_I… I'm in love with him… the one who killed Hisoka, robbed him of his life and ambitions, his chance to grow up and realize his dreams… I'm in love with him… when did that happen? Just when did I…? When I told you I wanted to help him, you seemed okay with it, Hisoka… but should you discover the true nature of my feelings for him – your murderer – would you be okay with that? Even though you gained some insight on what drove him to his murdering ways, would you despise me, think me a traitor…? What would the others think if they knew…?_

Finished with eating, Hisoka asked, expression deadpan, "Didn't it go well… this morning, with Lord Enma?"

Pulled out of his guilt-laden ruminations by Hisoka's voice, he turned his gaze to the youth's expectant face.

"Hmm…? Oh, it went well, surprisingly well, considering I just barged in there and pissed the hell out of Lord Enma… he has… retracted… the death warrant on Muraki," he replied, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

Hisoka's face returned to being unreadable, further unsettling his partner. "That's good news. I'm glad you pulled it off… but, why do you look so glum?"

Huffing, Tsuzuki's hand rose to sweep the bangs of hair back from his forehead and felt an unaccountable urge to throw something, lash out at someone. Harnessing these dangerous sentiments, he replied, "Ah… it's nothing… just that… the shadow man gave me one of his lectures…"

The teen smiled and shook his head. "You can't say you didn't see that coming. He's just doing his job, trying to keep you in line, you know…"

"Hey, you on his side now? Oh, right, of course, he hardly ever chews you out… wish he's just get off my case…"

"Aw, come on, you had it coming, Tsuzuki! Tatsumi's probably pissed because you hadn't alerted him, or Chief Konoe, and that you tackled Muraki all by yourself, that you could've gotten seriously hurt, or worse… I get where he's coming from…"

Hisoka paused at the sight of his partner's dejected expression and lightened his tone. "But I understand… you had your reasons…"

"No, you're absolutely right. I should've trusted them… and now I've just gone and made it worse… said some unkind things." He clicked his tongue and huffed. "I may have seriously hurt his feelings… oh, hell! I've got to look for him," Tsuzuki balked like a child and levered himself to his feet. Running towards the exit, he yelled over his shoulder, "Later, Hisoka! Let me know if Daisuke calls!"

_To be continued_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hugs to Sueona, Princess Sin, Jollyolly, Chazmy and Morality – a million thanks for all your reviews, comments and suggestions. Bunches of thanks as well to all of you who have put my story on your favorites' list._

_Disclaimers: Yoko Matsushita owns Yami no Matsuei. All my original characters are purely fictitious._

* * *

_**Love and darkness**_

_**Part Fourteen **_

_**Love's hidden face**_

In his dimly lit office, Seiichiro Tatsumi removed his glasses and flung them to his desk, cracking both its lenses. Apathetic, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead over a spot where pain had commenced to pulse. He reached for the lamp on his desk to extinguish its illumination and sat there for long moments in the dark, groaning from the sudden weight of his heart. Swiveling his leather chair round, he stared disconsolately out the window.

The _sakura_ petals, paled by the pre-dawn light of Meifu, were blown, darting and pirouetting, trapped in a never-ending ballet by the eternal breeze of the netherworld. His tears blurred their lovely dance.

Wearily, he debated with himself on whether or not to go back outside and walk among the trees, to lay stretched out on the ground, let the flowers rain down upon him, covering him, hiding him… become his shroud…

He slipped his hand into the silk-lined pocket of his jacket and pulled out several petals, stuffed in there the previous morning. It was a daily ritual for him, stopping to gather a handful along the way to the offices of the Judgment Bureau every morning. In the palm of his hand, they still felt silky, even though their edges had begun to curl and fray.

_These delicate blossoms that bloom perennially… _

_"How pampered and privileged we are to be able to enjoy sakura blossoms all year round…"_

"_You believe so? Some things… become even more precious when they are rare, and fleeting… in the mortal world, these blooms are treasured because they are a metaphor for the ephemeral nature of human existence…"_

When he closed his eyes, tears tracked down his cheeks and the secretary of the Judgment Bureau recalled the expression on that face… as his left hand had fallen to his right, thumb absently stroking his watchband, that trademark habit of his… the sight of his eyes pulled far, too far away, to where Tatsumi couldn't follow… to another place, another time … the wistfulness, the longing… and then, right on cue, the shadow of pain…

As he had done ever since the day his eyes had settled on him for the very first time – the insecure, self-effacing, fresh recruit with the shy smile… as delicate as the _sakura_ blossoms that Seiichiro loved, he had summoned all the reserves of his willpower, stopped his hand from moving, from touching, holding, comforting…

Seiichiro drew air into his lungs, expelled it heavily though his mouth, more memories playing out in his head…

_"But why…? Have I offended you…? Tell me…! Do you… dislike me? I… don't understand… I thought we were getting along so well… I… thought we were friends… that you liked me…"_

When he evoked Asato Tsuzuki's face, the face that had been twisted with anguish, the Shadow Master was wracked by sobs, and he did not try to stop them from coming…

_Biting his trembling lower lip, those beautiful eyes glimmering with tears, so deeply hurt… yes, he had hurt him, again, and added more pain to the heap piled in the remnants of what had been his heart, slashed at that already destroyed ruin with one more vicious strike…_

_Yes… I'd plunged my spear into the willing, sacrificial body of a penitent lamb…_

And what had been his answer to him?

Seiichiro covered his mouth with the back of his hand, against the outpouring of his sobs, the memory of his reply hitting him, a fist in his guts, the hand of that fist embedded there, a claw of condemnation…

"_Don't take it personally, Tsuzuki, and stop being such a child! Look at yourself, a grown man, crying… We're… just too different, you and I… I know you can't help the way you are, but… you just rub me the wrong way… you try my patience… I've reached the end of my tether. Our partnership won't work out… better to end it now, don't you think, before my annoyance turns into hatred? Surely you'll be better off too, without me snapping at you and biting your head off all the time…"_

"_I… I don't mind it at all… I deserve it… I'm such a fuck-up… I know that… I swear… I'll try really hard… not to make you so angry… Tatsumi…"_

"_No. I've made up my mind. It's over. I'll inform Chief Konoe first thing tomorrow…"_

He had rehearsed it, thousands of times – what he would say, what he would do to protect himself against the man's weapons of conquest… the man, whose very persona was a weapon… the man, who didn't even have the slightest idea of what he had done, of what he did, every day, every hour, minute, second, that Tatsumi spent with him on assignments.

With a cursory, bitter laugh directed at himself, Seiichiro spoke aloud, "What he had done, what he did… huh… he didn't do anything, that's the irony of it… he didn't have to do anything… so blissfully oblivious… of what you did… still do… to me…

_"Please, Tatsumi…" _

_"Oh, for heaven's sake! Get it together! You'll get over it!"_

He'd braced himself, hardened his face and heart and lifted his eyes to the crushed man standing in front of him…

_His flushed cheeks, wet with his tears, wounded eyes piercing my soul…_

_The soft cheek… the one I almost… almost kissed, after I had gently wiped the blood off it with my handkerchief… that time… when he'd gotten himself cut there, by the violent wraith that had attacked him without warning, slashing at his face with her fingernails…_

His heart splintering, he had spun on his heels, turning his back on him, refusing to look back at him, kept walking resolutely, while tears stung his eyes and spilled. Behind him, he'd heard Tsuzuki's footsteps as he dashed off in the other direction…

_A performance worthy of a standing ovation…_

But no impressed, beaming faces, clapping hands and shouts of 'bravo!', bouquets and champagne awaited the accomplished thespian… only a cold, dark, empty room…. a chilly bed into which he had crawled, burrowing under the sheets, crying himself to sleep…

Silently, bravely, he'd borne Yutaka Watari's accusatory glares and scathing rebukes the next day…

_"What'd you do to Tsuzuki, you cold-hearted bastard?! He came over to my place, crying! It was you, right? Don't try to deny it! You yelled at him again, right? Tell me something, Mister High and Mighty, Mister Self-Righteous Prick, what did he ever do to you to make you treat him like that? Huh, I wonder about you… were you born this way, or did all your emotions die along with you when you died?!" The blond, seething, had sneered. "Look at you, sitting there like a living corpse, not in the least bit concerned! He was so upset, so I took him to Kyoto and he got plastered. He's still at my place, nursing a whopping hangover! Gods! I'm so mad at you right now, I could just wipe that bloody poker mug off you with my fist!"_

_"If it will make you and Tsuzuki feel better, please, be my guest."_

He had truly wanted to feel the blond's fist smash against his face, repeatedly… until he lost consciousness, because then, he wouldn't feel the pain in his heart any more…

In the end though, the blond had thrown up his hands and declared that it wouldn't be worth it, that slugging him would be a waste of his time and wouldn't change him anyway, and had stalked off after throwing a final glower of disgust at him… only to show up again in an hour, shame-faced and deeply apologetic for the words he'd used and for losing control, but quick to point out that he was still mad at him, and to request that he try to be kinder to Tsuzuki. Seiichiro had told him not to be concerned, and that he had already put in his request to be paired with someone else. Yutaka had looked surprised, upset and puzzled all at once, but hadn't commented further…

And now, he'd lost it, again, tore into him, for confronting Muraki head-on, all by himself… like an over-protective mother hen, and had drawn the usual reaction from the Shinigami. What could he say to him, to make him understand… why he did the things he did… that he worried about him, cared about him… and not because he hated him, or that he did those things to annoy him, out of malice… that he would, no matter what, always care… even if… he ever found somebody… someone, who could reach down into the abyss of him, find and take hold of his soul, heal it, kiss it, love it, love him…

_You always think of yourself as contemptible, imperfect… but to me, you are, and will always be… perfect…_

_Yes, I'll still care, for always…_

_For so long I'd waited… to perceive some small indication from him… so I could free what I felt for him, let it out into the open… confess it to him… but it never came… and I knew for certain that it never would… I was his 'aniki', and always will be…_

Seiichiro's weeping became intense, with the rawness, hurt and emptiness of one who, by Fate's design, perchanced to fall for the wrong person… someone who would never love him back, at least, not in the way he wanted…

Elated when he had been selected to pair with him, their partnership had become progressively unbearable for him. He'd fallen, crashing headlong in love with him, had longed to hold him, heal him… waiting, hoping, like an adolescent smitten for the first time, for something to flicker in those mesmerizing purple depths…

_"I've been waiting for you for hours! Where have you been, aniki?"_

From that day, when that word, which confirmed how Tsuzuki regarded him, came out of his mouth, he was forced to face the bitter truth.

Hurt, crushed, he reacted unkindly, becoming increasingly impatient and harsh towards him. His bewildered partner had swallowed his hurt, storing it away with its kin that lay buried in his heart, and worked hard to please him, smiling through the sting of his rebukes, stood upright and took the bitter onslaught of his frustration head-on, quietly tolerating the symptoms of Seiichiro's sickness of unrequited passion...

Night after night of lying awake, filled with remorse for his treatment of the one he so desperately loved, he thought he was slowly going out of his mind…

Until that day, when he awoke with a frightening urge. Consumed and clouded by that urge, he came up with a last-ditch plan…

_I'll force him… maybe he's the type that needs to be forced… the type that needs to be led… perhaps he does feel something for me, but never had the courage to say anything… damn this 'aniki' shit! I want him, and by gods, I'll have him!_

As soon as they were sent on an assignment, he waited, ready to spring into action at the first opportunity, which would surely present itself, taking into consideration Tsuzuki's tendency of seeking physical contact, purely innocent on his part of course, with his 'aniki', whenever he was distressed, or ebullient…

_Yes… he's predisposed to cuddling, and that's when I'll…_

In the gloom of his office, Seiichiro quaked and laid down his aching head, resting his wet cheek on his desk and whispered, "Thank the gods for my better judgment, for my self-control…"

When the opportunity had presented itself, he had spurned it, and had never regretted it, thankful at not having ruined everything, and losing the respect of the one he loved.

Horrified that he had come so precariously close to forcing himself upon him, he had made his decision to end their partnership…

_Some things are not meant to be…  
Things happen for a reason…_

Sighing, he consoled himself with these adages, the pain in his heart easing and softening his sobs. He raised his head, supporting it with his hands, speaking aloud to confirm what he had always known, even though he had rebelled against it and held on to hope – as a means of reconciliation and acceptance, to help him to move forward…

"I am not the one meant for him… Someone else will be the one to hold him, comfort him, and love him. And when that someone enters his life, I will be happy for him."

He started when he heard the knock, and the voice, docile, hesitant, "_Aniki_… are you in there?"

Panicked, Seiichiro employed his handkerchief to wipe his tear-streaked face, stuffed it into a drawer with his broken glasses. Hastily, he combed his fingers through his messed hair to make himself presentable.

Clearing his throat, he called, "Come in, Tsuzuki," but forgot to turn on his desk lamp.

"Um… why are you sitting here in the dark, Tatsumi?"

"Ah… I was about to leave…" he lied, and quickly turned the light on. "Something the matter? Come, sit down." The secretary's hand gestured at the Shinigami to approach.

Tsuzuki, striding towards the desk, instantly registered the shadow master's distress: pinched face, puffy eyelids, reddened eyes and nose…

He did the only thing he knew how, something that was second nature to him, whenever he was deeply sorry for something awful he had done. He strode quickly around to Tatsumi's chair, lunged at him and grabbed his arms, pulled him to his feet and embraced him.

_This… is what I've had to endure… his naive embraces… all this time, and he doesn't know what he does to me… ah, how can I blame him for what I feel…?_

"I'm so very sorry, aniki… I've hurt you, you've been crying. Forgive me, Seiichiro. You yell at me because you worry about me… forgive me… I know I'm despicable, thoughtless, and selfish… I really don't deserve to be cared for by you…"

Seiichiro Tatsumi listened to the Shinigami's blurted, choked words, and smiled as his hands reached to gently pull the miserable man back from him so he could see his face, so Tsuzuki could see the sincerity in his eyes when he told him, "No, you do deserve my care, Asato, every bit of it." He smiled down at contrite violet eyes, lower lip bitten nervously.

"You… forgive me, then?"

"Yes. I forgive you." Tatsumi saw the happy, child-like grin on the face he had loved for so long for an instant before the Shinigami hugged him again, pressing his tousled head against his shoulder.

Feeling the warmth of the man in his arms, Tatsumi sighed softly.

_This… is okay… this… is enough…_

The ringing of Tsuzuki's phone startled them both, separating them. Tatsumi sat back down in his chair, watching the Shinigami, cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Tsuzuki… Hisoka? … When? … Okay… I got it… thanks, Hisoka."

Slipping his phone into his pocket, the Shinigami looked thoughtful when he sought the secretary's face. Tatsumi lifted his eyebrows in enquiry.

"I have to leave for Tokyo. Daisuke called… he wants to see me… told me to go alone… it seems Muraki left his apartment… and went… to Kyoto…"

Tatsumi frowned, face darkened, voice sharp. "Kyoto? Is he still there?"

Tsuzuki shook his head slowly. "No… he's back in his Tokyo penthouse… Daisuke followed him there… and back… apparently he didn't have time to call us… didn't want to lose sight of him… said he – Muraki – had driven out of the car park like a bat out of hell… sped all the way… to Kyoto… Daisuke wants to brief me on what he saw there…"

"Was anyone with him when he returned to Kyoto?"

"No… Daisuke would've mentioned it… hmm… I've just had a sort of…"

The secretary finished Tsuzuki's sentence for him with shrewd, narrowed eyes. "Epiphany, right?"

Both men stared at each other, completely different thoughts and emotions racing through each one's mind, but with one common factor…

"Oriya Mibu…"

Both men spoke that name simultaneously.

"Damn it!" Tatsumi's fist came crashing down on his desk, startling the other man.

"What is it, Tatsumi?" The Shinigami squinted at the man who was pulling open the drawers of his desk, rummaging through them. Finding what he was looking for, the secretary opened a small case, removed the glasses and put them on as he stood up.

"We may have been dreadfully careless…"

"What do you…?"

"Should've kept him here… we've no time to waste! Off you go, Asato… I'm heading for Kyoto… please, keep me posted, will you?"

The Shinigami looked abashed, and smiled sheepishly. "Of course."

"And, please…"

"Yes, I know, be careful, right? Don't worry, I will… you watch your back too, Seiichiro…"

Tatsumi smiled, before he vanished.

* * *

Long fingers flew gracefully across the keyboard of the pianoforte. The eyes of the man seated at the instrument, immaculately garbed in formal evening wear, were closed, absorbed in his playing. The notes of the arabesque resonated through the studio. 

A swirling cloud hovered above the instrument, the tendrils of mist changing their shape languidly, their swirling guttered the flames of the candles set in a bronze candelabrum atop the white grand piano.

The demon's twelve optical orbs were riveted on the form sitting before the piano. It appeared to be taking pleasure in the music, its misty form darkening slowly, from gray to black, growing denser.

Sealed eyelids parted, the gleam of silver eyes swept over the cloud with adoration, lips moving to smile sensuously, educing a sighing sound from the entity.

Kazutaka Muraki's eyes never left his master. They played over the cloud mass until his fingers produced the last, soft notes of the piece he had chosen to entertain his master.

When he rose and strode out of the room, the mass and its eyes rushed behind him to shadow him, following him into the lounge. There, it watched deft hands open a bottle of wine, pouring the burgundy liquid into a glass.

"Did you enjoy my playing?"

"**Yes."**

Kazutaka smiled broadly at the breathless quality of his master's reply. After taking a sip of the wine, he dipped two fingers into it and drew them into his mouth, licking the wine from them in a blatant act of seduction.

In truth, he knew his actions were unnecessary… his master was already lusting, totally captivated by him the moment it swarmed though the window, but the fingers being drawn suggestively in and out of the mouth served to heighten the demon's lust as it considered its precious possession.

"**You seem very… different, somehow…"**

Chuckling delightedly, the man seated on the black velvet couch crossed his legs, flicking a fingernail at a wisp of lint on the smooth, midnight blue fabric sheathing his long thigh.

"In what way?"

"**You've become… even more… beautiful, since I last saw you… it seems you've…"**

The demon without a name fell silent, reticent at giving too much away, too soon…

**_It seems you've finally come into all of your powers, my exquisite little hybrid prince… your body has regenerated that eye… soon, you will be ready to be the weapon of my vengeance… and you'll be mine, forever…_ **

"Does… it please you?" A breathless, husky whisper, ensued by open-mouthed panting…

"**Oh, absolutely! Why did you… summon me? You've… never summoned me… before…"**

The demon's rasping voice was as breathless as Kazutaka's, both appearing to be a pair of passionate lovers, the man, seducing; the entity, practically groveling…

"You're displeased… that I called you… did I drag you away from some important task, perhaps? If I did, please forgive me… But I wanted, needed… to see you… I've been longing… to see you… you haven't come… for some time…"

"**Indeed, I have been busy gathering more souls for my army… the minions, whom you will command, as I have told you, as my chief lieutenant… but how could I not come, seeing as this is the first time you've ever summoned me…"**

Kazutaka licked his lips after draining his glass. "Do you really… love me… that much… that you would place your army under my leadership, master?"

"**Have I not told you… that the reason I came to you was to be of help to you, because I loved you… have I not professed my love for you… enough times? Do you doubt… Kazutaka?"**

The head of silvery-white hair tossed, and turned away, a childish pout stamped on the face before the demon.

"Yes… I doubt, master… because you've never… told me anything about yourself, who you really are… what your objectives are… why you are amassing your dark militia…" Kazutaka's tone was petulant, hurt…

"**All in good time, my chosen, my beloved, I promise you…"**

Patiently, the demon waited until the sulking expression melted into one of affection. The flood of worship, love and desire that had met it upon its arrival increased a thousandfold in intensity as the silver eyes stared at it, enveloping the entity, overwhelming and delighting it…

"Do you doubt… my love for you, master?"

The demon's reply sounded thick, strangled by the onslaught of Kazutaka's passion.

"**Ah… no…"**

"You can feel it… can't you…. my love for you…?"

The demon saw the form on the couch rising, moving towards it until Kazutaka stood in the very center of the thick, black mass.

"**Yes… ah…"**

"Pleasure me…"

Kazutaka's master obliged and soon, the man in the mist was horny, hand rubbing his groin and panting…

The entity surged behind Kazutaka when he entered his bedroom. There, he commenced a slow, seductive striptease, reducing the demon to sprawling tongues of mist, lapping and slithering around bare ankles, vocalizing its lust in bestial growling.

Its eyes burned red-hot above the man stretched out on the bed, whose slow, stroking hands were engaged in the act of self-stimulation.

Kazutaka smiled lazily. "Feel… share… my pleasure, my lord and master," he whispered, parting his lips, opening his mouth wider…

* * *

The Sweeper, in invisible mode, straightened from his slouch, sensing the form of a Shinigami settle on the ground next to him. 

"Yo! Good to see ya, how've you been, Tsuzuki?"

"If you don't mind, I haven't got time for chit-chat, Daisuke. So tell me, where did he go when he arrived in Kyoto?"

"To a place called 'Kokakuro'. Ya know it? Swanky place – restaurant by day, bordello for the elite at night…"

The Shinigami's heart skipped a few beats. "And?"

"It was weird, man. He slunk into the place, all shifty like, into the garden by the back entrance and hid behind a tree. He looked like hell, all crazy like… I was scared stiff, figurin' he was gonna bump somebody off, I was wonderin' what the hell I was gonna do, if it came to that… Hey, yeah! And another weird thing, that gash on his head… it was gone, I mean, totally gone! Go figure…"

"Yes, go on."

"Well, while our man's lurkin' there for I dunno what, this tall dude, long dark hair, good-lookin', comes strollin' into the garden… Our subject is like, gawkin' at him, looking sick, like he was havin' a heart attack… and then, well… one of your guys… can't recall his name, but you should know him, blond, with glasses, ya know… anyway, he was definitely a Shinigami… so this guy pops up outta nowhere, and then… him and the other guy… This next bit was why I asked you to come alone, I figured you wouldn't want anyone other than you hearin' about certain stuff, coz the Shinigami and this other guy start gettin', well… passionate's the only way to put it."

Daisuke paused, searching the Shinigami's face, found no surprise on it and continued.

"Meanwhile, our man the doc doesn't seem too happy about what's goin' on… seemed to me like he has a thing for the tall dark dish… I mean, you should've seen him, eatin' up the road with that cool car of his, overtakin' everythin' in his way. Huh," the sweeper shrugged, "talk about bad luck… somebody else got lucky."

"Go on."

"The lovey-dovey couple takes off into the house… subject seems sorta dazed… man, he just damn well froze… for half an hour, I swear, he practically turned into a statue. My butt was sore from sittin' on that branch, just lookin' at him… didn't see him twitch or nothin'."

Daisuke shook himself. "Man, it was creepy… never seen anythin' like it before."

"And then what?"

"All of a sudden, our man comes to life, gives the tree a whack and starts blubberin'… like a kid… go figure… hey, you listenin', man? You look a little spaced…"

"I'm listenin'," said Tsuzuki, infected by Daisuke's accent.

"He seemed to get his act together after a while… and then, I heard him, clear as day, say, "This will be my last act of revenge." Subject then heads back to his car, cool as anythin', like nothin' happened, and heads back here, no speedin' this time, just takes his time. That's it. Dunno if any of it's of any use, but there you have it, just bein' thorough…"

"No no, you did an excellent job, Daisuke," the Shinigami cut in, looking through the glass doors at the foyer.

"Posh digs, huh?"

"Top floor?"

"Yup, the penthouse… you goin' up there?"

"Yup."

"Use the private elevator on the far right. Wait for me here, I'm goin' around the corner to materialize, can't do it here, one of the guards is lookin' right this way… I'll go in and distract the security boys so you can use the elevator… they'll get jumpy if they see the doors openin' with nobody goin' in or comin' out."

"Appreciate your help, kid."

* * *

He stood half-dressed before the mirror, staring at his reflected self. Through a force of habit, newly acquired after he had awoken that morning in Meifu and felt it against his breastbone, he clasped the amulet… 

A misshapen lump with the appearance of unburnished bronze, possessing no beauty or elegance, fastened to a simple, black cord. With only his dream to explain how it had come to be in his possession, he was still rather puzzled.

When he had asked the Shinigami, who was now his lover, if he had seen anything out of the ordinary during the night before he had awoken with it tied around his neck, Watari had seemed reticent; the blond had opened his mouth, blinking, became dazed, before declaring that he had not witnessed anything other than jolting awake and seeing him tossing around on his bed, sensing an evil presence and being paralyzed by it. Oriya remembered that strange dream-like encounter, of conversing with something or someone, the pressure of what had felt like cold claws upon him; and then the second dream in which a luminescent being had embraced and kissed him. In her soft voice, she said, "I am Sanae," securing the amulet around his neck. It was a talisman of protection, she told him…

"Goddess Sanae," he intoned with his eyes closed, "was it you… did your hands put this on me… but… why?" and felt his heart swell until he thought it would surely burst…

_"Why do we pray to her, Mama?"_

_His mother drew him close, lifted him onto her lap and kissed his cheek._

_"For protection, Oriya. Sanae is a protector goddess. She wields a sword and shield, both made of gold."_

_"Isn't gold very heavy, Mama? She must be very strong…"_

_Oriya's mother laughed. "Yes, she has great strength and when we pray to her, she gives us strength, and endurance. She is called 'the Sword and Shield of the East', and she commands the other three protector gods of the North, South and West, who are male deities. Sanae is their leader because she is the strongest among them…"_

_"Have you ever seen her?"_

_Mama hugged him tightly, kissing him again. "Yes… once… darling child… never forget, keep her in your heart, all your life… she is your very own goddess…"_

_"Yes, Mama… why are you crying? Are you sad?" He touched his mother's tears with his small fingers._

_"No, Oriya, I'm not sad. I'm crying because I'm happy and because I love you so much…"_

Relinquishing his hold on the talisman, he lifted his eyes to the ones in the mirror.

"Great strength… endurance… yes, you indeed filled me with these qualities…"

Pulling on his shirt, he saw them in his peripheral, a pair of miniature faces, captured by Satsuki's camera… Oriya had been aware of her, observing them, aware of her curiosity, and, her obvious infatuation with Kazu. She'd intruded on their conversation and insisted on snapping a photo of them, her voice high and tremulous when Kazutaka turned to her… He'd registered the surprise and dismay in her face when Kazu had pulled him close to press their cheeks together intimately for their pose…

His hand shook when he picked up the memento of a carefree moment in the lives of two young men so deeply in love with each other, exuberant, anticipating a blissful future, together… His unsteady finger traced the outline of the face joined to his, caressed the features… he'd still had both his eyes then, eyes that bloomed with love…

_Licking off the dollop of red sauce from your finger…_

_"Well?"_

_"Mmm… needs more salt… hmph…"_

_"What?"_

_"Don't see why we couldn't have just met her at a restaurant…"_

_"Jealous?"_

_"Of course… You never spend this much time cooking for me… besides, I had plans…"_

_"Such as?"_

_"Handcuffing you to the bed…"_

_"Ooooh… and?"_

_"This and that… and more this and that… be forewarned, mister… I've been sorely deprived…"_

_"So have I… let me tell you, it's not exactly fun having hard-ons in the middle of rounds, mister… it's been crazy at that hospital… three fucking weeks! C'mere you… … gods… I've missed you… … I'm sorry… … things'll get much better once I finish my internship, you'll see… hey, why the long face?"_

_"Just pissed is all, your first day home and we have to entertain! Tell me why we're doing this again?"_

_"Hey, you used to like Satsuki in high school… what happened?"_

_"That was before she followed you to medical school and decided to fall in love with you…"_

_"Okay… fair enough… but she didn't decide to become a doctor because of me… her parents railroaded her… the poor kid…"_

_"Yadda yadda, tough luck… the other reason I'm so pissed, is…"_

_"Uh-oh… there's more?"_

_"You bet, mister! I'm so fucking horny and I'm in no mood for her plastic smiles specially patented for me… the real ones are exclusively reserved for you, Muraki Sensei…"_

_"Ah, well… the horny thing I can fully understand and sympathize with, but as for the other thing, well, you won't have to put up with that anymore…"_

_"How come?"_

_"She's engaged… she's bringing her fiancé tonight… didn't I tell you…?"_

_"No… but whoopee, anyway…"_

_"More good news while we're at it… I'm not on call this weekend… happy?"_

_"Whoa, I'm on a roll…"_

_"Do I get a kiss…?"_

_"… …"_

_"And… we still have the whole of tomorrow, during which, I, Muraki Sensei, will treat your ailment and completely cure you, to the point where you won't be able to walk, let alone stand up… how's that, mister?"_

_"Acceptable, Sensei."_

_"Right! Toss this stuff with that dressing while I chuck all this in the dishwasher and we're done… What were you saying, earlier, about science… and something…?"_

_"Mmm… I've forgotten now… oh yeah, I watched a documentary last night, 'The Science of Love'! I laughed all the way through it… it was that ridiculous… apparently people fall in love because of pheromones and some other such chemistry crap… well, fall in lust, maybe, but when it comes to love, science falls flat on its face…"_

_"O-kaay…"_

_"Science will never unlock the mysteries of love… love is… a world unto itself… science has no place in that world…"_

_"Hmm… I can't argue with that, my gorgeous philosopher… c'mere… I love… no, that's hardly good enough… even the words devised for us to employ – love, adore, desire, crave, et cetera, fall short… they don't convey precisely what… I feel… for you… … what time is it?"_

_"Half-past six."_

_"Then we've got half an hour… oh gods… just look at you…oh, Oriya… I'm the luckiest man alive… take me there, now… where science has no place…"_

_Another zipper ruined… the sauce Kazu was so proud of got burnt… we ended up taking our guests out for dinner… Satsuki was radiant and her smiles for me were genuine, and beautiful…_

_A year later, my perfect world lay in ruins…_

"I poured it all, every single drop of strength and endurance into my love for you," he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, "squandered it all willingly for you," setting the framed picture down, returning it to where it belonged, an altar before which he stood everyday to revere the lover he had lost.

Oriya Mibu picked up the ring and slipped it on his finger, slid it to the place where years of wearing it had carved a permanent, indented circle around his flesh. He raised that hand, shaking badly as if he was afflicted with palsy, adorned with the symbol of a commitment made years ago, bringing it close to the mirror so he could see it there, reflected in the glass…

_Kazu's breath, his lips, against his ear…"With this ring, I bind myself, heart, mind, body and soul, to you…"_

He heard his own whisper, slipping the ring on Kazu's finger, uttering the exact same words…

_Kazu, kissing him… "Let the stars and heavens bear witness to our love…"_

Their sounds of passion echoed in his head; he felt the warm earth against his back, lying on its covering of grass…

_Bound to you, in love…_

_Even after you forgot your vow and removed your ring, I pumped more strength, more endurance into loving you…_

_"Please, Oriya…?"_

_Became the master of this place, so you could freely keep certain mouths shut, repay illicit favors and eyes turned the other way with gifts made of the flesh of women…_

_Bound to you, in madness…_

_Murdering my conscience while you murdered… strangling the word 'no' in my throat time and again…_

_Hideo Morikawa, sloshing more sake into his cup, tut-tutting…_

_"How terrible… was he drunk? He's lucky to have come out of it alive."_

_Following Hideo's shifty-eyed gaze, thrown over his shoulder… to Kazu, charming everyone at his table where he entertained that quiet, bespectacled professor from his college days..._

_Turning away, averse to allowing my eyes to fall on the two women, who sat on either side of Kazu, fawning, vying for his attentions…_

_Shutting my mind closed from the thought: which of the two will it be? Who will not live to see the day, Kazutaka? Who will taste your kiss of death? Or, will it be both?_

_Hideo, shaking his head, clicking his tongue again…_

_"Just look at him! Hard to believe he was in a car crash… such a pity about his eye, though… But why on earth did he choose a ghastly thing like that? It gives me the creeps!"_

_Puffing on my pipe and smiling, a consummate actor, through the nausea induced by my guilty knowledge…_

_Of the whole, sordid truth…_

_Car crash, my ass…_

_Clumsiness, inexperience… or had it just been a case of plain bad luck? Picking the wrong one, or, complacency?_

_Your first victim… lying on a bed in a private hospital in Tokyo, your hands had quivered when you recounted all the gory details of that night… had they shook when you'd throttled the life out of her?_

_You certainly hadn't bargained for her fighting spirit when you chose her, a mere slip of a girl… she'd fought you tooth and nail when she realized, all too late… the teeth marks and scratches on your skin bore chilling witness to her courage, her desperate struggle for her life…_

_But, her pluckiness couldn't save her from the blood-lusting embrace of a devil that looked like an angel…_

_The monster with half a chopstick sticking out of his mangled, bleeding eye, bearing down on her relentlessly…_

_"Please, Oriya…?"_

_Kazu… stripping off my soiled clothes… I'd thrown up all over myself… washing me tenderly…_

_"I'm sorry, Oriya…"_

_After disposing of the third corpse, I didn't vomit… never did, ever again… just dumped all the bodies numbly, devoid of emotion…_

_Bound to you, in sin…_

_My hands, shaking violently as I poured more sake to gulp it down… Hideo's sour breath as he leaned close, whispering thickly, his sharp eyes never missing a thing…_

_"What's wrong, my beauty? Have you run out? You should've called me, I would've been happy to bring more for you… you know I'll do anything for you, even though… you never give me anything in return…"_

_"Shut it, slime ball. I've never charged you for any number of girls you take in a single night…"_

_"Oh, don't get me wrong, Mibu. I'm truly grateful for all your favors! But… none of them really satisfy me… you know who I really want, don't you?"_

_The repulsive feel of his hand on my thigh… blowing smoke on his face…_

_"Remove your hand."_

_"Come now, don't be like that… you look especially ravishing tonight… you wear red so well… not one of your girls can hold a candle to you… hmm, I'm well aware of your disinclination to wearing underwear… the thought of you, scrumptiously naked beneath all those layers of fine silk is dick-jerking unbearable… I'll give you a year's supply… if you let me reach under them and feel…"_

_"You'll feel the edge of my katana and if you survive, you'll be dickless if you ever touch me again, Hideo. You sicken me… I can get my supply from a dozen other…"_

Oriya laughed bitterly from the recollection of his remark, at the absurdity, the irony of his reaction towards the horny man seated so uncomfortably close to him that night; his contempt and disgust at the leering face…

_Hideo, for all his complicities in underhanded dealings, had never murdered anyone nor arranged for anyone to be killed…_

His laughter grew crazed… _It's almost ludicrous! Kazutaka, a cold-blooded killer, had never filled me with disgust…_

_The blast of Hideo's breath against my cheek as he roared with laughter…_

_"Don't be so cocky, Mibu. Go ahead and try, though I seriously doubt you'll be in any position to, seeing the way you are now… eventually, you'll come running back to me… what you crave is not so readily available these days… I happen to be one of very few in this country to have contacts that purvey what you need…"_

_Hideo, casting a pitying glance at me… "Seeing you like this breaks my heart…"_

_Kazu's arm, snaking around Hideo's neck, applying considerable pressure, speaking softly, calmly, into the ashen-faced man's ear, his sweet, innocent smile drew attention away from the murderous gleam in his eye… the face of a tiger moving in for the kill…_

_"Say another word, Morikawa, and the commissioner of police will have a list on his desk tomorrow morning, names of cops on your payroll… you can resist and tell me that I need you and your dirty cops, but I would simply tell you that I don't need them, or you, because I have my own dirty cops… seeing as you were the lecherous weasel who introduced him to the stuff at that infamous soiree of yours when my back was turned, I won't tolerate you speaking to him this way… are you simply dull-witted or merely masochistic…?"_

_Impassively watching Hideo's panicked eyes, I was drawn into flashbacks of the night Kazu referred to…_  
… … …  
_Sullen and depressed, languishing in bed for days, refusing to entertain my clientele… not answering the phone, exclusively reserved for Kazu's calls… my flares of courage and sanity were effectively doused by the mere sight of you, striding coolly towards me to quietly relieve me of my hold on my packed suitcase… you bathed and dressed me, cheerfully insisting that I needed to get out more… being steered through a motley throng of revelers – of dubious backgrounds and questionable ethics – as you proudly displayed me, a pathetic puppet on your arm, the speculative whispers and curious glances as we passed delighting you… I was drinking too much, too fast… when your attention was diverted, I made my escape from the empty chatter and nauseous whiffs of perfume excessively sprayed and slathered on the ladies… being discovered by Morikawa in the garden, swearing because I'd forgotten my pipe and tobacco… "I'm delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mibu-san… I didn't know the Doctor had such a charming companion," he crooned, opening a cigarette case. "Would you like one?"  
He licked his thin lips as he brought the flame of his lighter to the tip of the unfiltered, hand-rolled cigarette at my mouth. Thanking him, I sincerely wished he would disappear and leave me in peace._  
_Rather than stand out, he blended in perfectly with his guests, the women included, who were far from being model citizens with unblemished reputations; the natural slant of his long, narrow eyes lent him a permanent, devious expression. Something about him set my teeth on edge the moment Kazu introduced us and when I took my first, greedy pull on the cigarette, that something became very apparent… his dark, slitted eyes played their gaze over me with open lust…  
Several Morikawas swimming in my vision as I began swaying…  
"Goodness me!" Hands steadying me… "A bit too strong for you, perhaps? Foreign tobacco tends to be… a friend of mine brought these from Colombia… you really ought to lie down, Mibu-san."  
Stupidly allowing him to lead me, his sweaty hand grasping mine much too tightly… hazy warning bells ringing but much too light-headed to take proper notice…_  
_Flopping, flat on my back after gulping down water from a glass he held for me…  
"Here… they're much better smoked lying down…"  
Further stupidity, but oddly eager, watching him light another one and bringing it to my mouth…  
"What's in this…? It's…"  
"Damn good, isn't it? Takes you to another world, doesn't it, Mibu-san?"  
His giggling, loud in my ears, echoing… "Just lie back… and enjoy…"  
Cool air against my bare legs… feeling deliciously drowsy… my balls and cock being squeezed, licked… engrossed, puffing deeply on the joint… descending into decadence… consenting to the molestations of a stranger's hands and mouth…_  
_The joint being snatched from me… Kazu's voice… "Get off him… back away, Morikawa…"  
Forcing my eyes open… Kazu, standing by the bed, holding a handgun pointed at Hideo… cocking it… Kazu's backhanded blow, sending Hideo reeling… "Get out of my sight, run, before I make it impossible for you to ever feel lust and get a stiffy again…"_  
_Yelling at you, irritable, while you tended to my clothes, restoring my undressed state to decency… "Hoi! Where's my cigarette? Give it back!"  
You stayed with me for a week after that, to keep me from it, extracting promises from me, promises I fully intended to break… thinking deviously, 'You can't stay here forever, Kazu,' determined to procure more of those delightful smokes that obscured my sorrow and guilt, as soon as you left for Tokyo…  
Three days later, you were back… to find me, on my bed, senseless…  
You, raging and cursing, searching through all my stuff and cupboards to locate my stash, bullying and roaring at a cowering Yoshida… hauling me out of bed, shaking me…"you goddamned fool!"  
Yoshida, loyal to the bone, trying to come between us to protect me from your wrath… wrath you eventually unleashed on someone else…_  
_Watching Hideo, sitting alone miserably at a table, shooing away all the girls who sidled up to him in succession… he bore no malice towards me, his eyes lighting up when I approached him… his face, sporting livid, colorful bruises wrung a measure of pity from me, enough to make me sit with him and keep his cup filled while he bemoaned his treatment at Kazu's hands, muttering… "I was left unconscious in my own living room, after being savagely beaten…he's crazy, I tell you…"  
'That's what you get,' I thought, 'for tainting and messing with one of his dolls…'  
Furtively and nervously, he enquired, "Is he here tonight?"  
When I shook my head, he flashed a small, conspiratorial smile at me, extracted a package from his briefcase and slipped it to me… "Something special for you, Mibu-san… excellent quality… pure pleasure…"  
Waking the following night to the sound of sobbing…  
You, on the floor… hugging your knees, rocking back and forth… breaking my heart… again…  
Yes, again… your beauty, from child to man; your love, expressed by your eyes, voice and body; your sorrow and madness – all these, broke my heart, again… and again…_

Holding you, with all the strength of my arms, rocking with you, both of us weeping…  
… … …

_Kazu's hand, a vice at Hideo's throat…_

_"Nnngh… now, now, Doctor… I was just joking around…"_

_Kazu, loosening his hold, patting Hideo's shoulders…_

_"Of course you were. So was I. I'm happy to hear that you're such a good friend to Oriya Mibu. A year's supply, delivered first thing tomorrow morning. And, I'll thank you to keep your paws off him… need another remedial lesson, perhaps? No…? Good boy… Oh dear, look, your cup's empty… here… let's drink a toast to our continued friendship…"_

_You, leaning on the doorjamb, dapper in your white clothes…_

_"Aren't you going to join me for dinner?"_

_When I didn't reply, you came closer, looking at me with concern. "You seem paler than usual… aren't you feeling well, Oriya?"_

_"Don't… come closer… just get out!"_

_"I understand. Come, hit me till I pass out… you'll feel better…"_

_"Why… why? Oh, gods…"_

_"Gods? There are no gods, Oriya. They don't exist… gods, heaven… it's all a pile of rubbish. There's only darkness, and pain…"_

_Losing it… grabbing my katana, lunging at you, pressing the tip of its blade against your throat…_

_"I'll kill you… end your pain, end mine… I'll follow you to Hell!"_

_"Do it… do it… but kiss me first… kiss me, then kill me… don't follow me… forget all of it, forget me… live on…"_

_"Live on?! Damn you… damn you, Kazu!"_

_"That's it… yes, pour all your anger, hate and pain into your beautiful blade… kill me, Oriya…"_

_"Hate, Kazu?! Have you completely lost all your faculties, for you to believe that hate made me your accomplice? Hate?! Hate?!"_

_"Then pour your love into it… love me with your blade, Oriya."_

_You, looking at me with that single eye narrowing, keenly watching me, as my crazed laughter became sobs… lowering my katana… when I'd quieted, you whispered…_

_"Just one more, Oriya, I promise you. One last time, no more after that, you won't have to…"_

_You fell silent when I'd lifted my head to look at your face, still watching me closely…_

_"I promise, just one more. Will you help me out, one last time, please, Oriya?"_

_Before I could speak the word, my heart had said, 'yes'…_

_Staring at you… before me stood the boy in the uniform of our school, with such sad eyes… even then, from that first moment I saw you, I had loved you, worked hard to make you happy… my efforts paid off, earned me your smiles, gifted to me only when we were alone… then, the adolescent Kazu appeared… I fought with everything I had, waged a battle with the melancholy that imprisoned you… and won you… only to lose you, watching helplessly as you slipped through my fingers like liquid…_

_Blinking away the visions to gaze at the man – beautiful of form, brilliant of mind… but so deeply warped, a flawed diamond…_

_"Oriya… please?"_

_My mind, posing that question to myself: 'should you… ever want me to… commit… deliver the actual… would I…?'_

_Even before completing the thought, my heart had answered…_

_The stark horror… of what my love for you had done to me, clenching my heart…_

_The roar of a beast in agony, crying to be put out of its misery…_

_Your hands… locking onto the swinging blade just before it struck my neck… flinging it away…_

_Implausibly, amidst my abject despair, I was further stricken by the thought of your fine, skilled surgeon's hands, slashed…_

_Your hand, clamping over my mouth… tasting the salt of your blood… my legs giving way… your arm around me…_

_Being placed on the bed, mumbling to my goddess…_

_"Forgive me… forgive me… don't give me any more… I'll keep using it all to please him… surely now you should turn your back on me, goddess… now that you know… I can, and will, kill for him… I'm lost… I've already crossed over into Hell…"_

_The needle, stinging my arm… your eye, so full of sorrow… tears, sparkling jewels on your cheek…_

_Sweet wash of oblivion… floating into white light… praying to never wake again…_

_Standing at the edge of the river, watching her body – number ten, slip under the water's surface… no loved ones at her watery burial… her only mourners were the sad orb of heaven – the pale moon, and the skies, which had begun to rain down its tears…_

_Arriving back here… you, waiting for me, in celebratory mood…_

_Like a geisha, you plied me with sake and sushi, which passed through my mouth, a mouth that tasted nothing… you, talking incessantly, but I couldn't hear a single word… finally you stopped, came close and pressed your forehead to mine…_

_Being led to my bedroom, where you played with your Oriya doll… dressing me in red and gold… propping me up on the bed, fussing with the arrangement of my hair and garments until you were satisfied…_

_Snatching the pipe from your hand after you lit it, crazed by the cloying fragrance of the opium mixed in with the tobacco… sucking on it, drawing the poison vapor into my lungs like a man starved of air… sinking into sweet stupefaction… your arms pulling me close… sprawled on your lap, my head against your shoulder… drifting into delirium, snuggling into a cocoon where the voices of those dead women could not penetrate…_

_High and horny… getting my fix, pressed against you… getting so fucking hard… you hadn't slept with me in years… clumsily trying to get myself off, not giving a damn that you were there, watching me… you, finishing for me with your mouth… sucking in more ecstasy from my pipe, while you sucked me off…_

From Oriya's limbs, the shaking spread to his torso. He staggered, lurching to his bed, tumbled onto the rumpled sheets, still redolent with passion and sex, his hands clawing the sheets…

_Your scent still lingers, Yutaka…_

_I meant it when I said I loved you…_

_You couldn't hide it from me… the doubt flaring in your eyes when they flickered to the photo of Kazu and I when I brushed your hair… you glanced at my finger… yes, you remembered the ring…_

_Last night, if I hadn't forgotten for the first time, by some fluke, to replace it, would I have removed it before making love with you… would you still have gone to bed with me if I hadn't?_

_There it was, the question in your mind, your eyes searching mine: 'do you still… love him?'_

_I, in turn, couldn't hide my answer, couldn't lie…you saw it in my eyes before I looked away from your gaze… yet, you let me kiss you… you held me so tightly, whispering, "I love you…"_

_So quickly you'd turned away because you didn't want me to see the hurt on your face… before you vanished…_

_I never meant to hurt you… I didn't lie when I said I loved you…_

_If you tear off my mask… if you unearth the whole truth of who I am, what I am… would you, can you… still love me, Yutaka?_

"Your car's waiting at the back entrance… Master?!"

Yoshida took one look at the form, twisting and thrashing on the bed, and rushed to the cabinet to remove the lacquered chest that contained the substance his master was addicted to…

While his hands worked hurriedly, the servant's eyes were fraught with pain and worry when the keening commenced, hair-raising sounds coming from his master…

"Quickly… Yoshida… give it to me!"

The devoted man sensibly refrained from focusing on his master's face when he brought the lit pipe to his master's lips – he couldn't bear to see it, that face, which belonged to the man who had been so kind to him, distorted by its grotesque contortions.

Oriya Mibu, his mouth joined to his pipe's, sucked frantically…

_Yes… let me drown in it… sweet sap of the seeds of alluring flowers dipped in blood…  
So beautiful, yet so deadly, so addictive… just like you… Kazu…_

Gradually, his body lay limp, tears oozing from his glassy eyes…

_I, who loved you with a desperation that defied my understanding, was powerless to save you from the torment that trapped your soul… all I could do was hold fast to my vow, love you with my entire being, whether or not you wanted or needed my love… I'll drain all the strength from this heart… for you… to the very end…_

_To be continued... _

* * *

_I'm all wrung out, exhausted, from writing all the angst, and as you can probably tell, there's going to be lots more of it…_

_Say a prayer for those who have loved and lost,  
TGO_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hello to all of you who are still following this. Hugs to all of you who have posted your reviews. Here's the next bit - sorry it took a while!_

* * *

**_Love and darkness_**

_**Part Fifteen – Prelude to a showdown**_

Chuckling, he glanced over his shoulder at Daisuke Seki, effectively distracting all the security personnel in the foyer by his convincing portrayal of a disorderly drunk. When the elevator doors met, he allowed himself to slump against the mirrored wall, fatigued and tense at the same time. Alone again, it was no longer necessary for him to maintain his façade of composure and nonchalance. Relieved that no security pass cards were required to activate the elevator, he punched the single floor button – level forty-nine. Moving to the rear glass wall, he gazed at the progressively shrinking city below, awash in the soft tangerine glow of the sun, peeking above the horizon. The elevator's rapid ascent rendered him slightly dizzy and he shook his head, grunting perfunctorily at the absurdity of the sensation – he, a Shinigami who possessed the power of soaring flight, feeling dizzy… Physically, he knew he was ready to drop from exhaustion; he hadn't had a decent rest since the onset of his mission of locating Kazutaka Muraki, but he rebelled against his need for a break. Deciding to cheat, he drew a boost of strength from his powerhouse within to sustain him.

Asato Tsuzuki's heart began pounding faster when the hushed humming sound of the elevator's mechanisms ceased. He stepped into the small private foyer as the doors sighed closed behind him. The milk-white carpet yielding to the tread of his shoes felt luxuriously soft and thick as he advanced towards the white, two-leaved doors. He paused at the white wood and glass side-table, flanked by a pair of armless, leather-upholstered chairs, white, of course. He snorted, not derogatively, but with a fondness that surprised him, at all the white shades creating an overall pristine atmosphere. Reflected in the mirror above the side-table was his flushed face, untidy hair, the drooping, loosened knot of his tie. He looked down at his rumpled appearance; black trench coat direly in need of dry-cleaning, worn, scuffed black shoes and cringed, feeling sorely out of place among the elegant, expensive furnishings. The fragrance of rich crimson roses clustered in a celadon vase washed through his nostrils. Drawn to them, he sank his nose among the velvety blooms, inhaling deeply…

_'A million red roses…' your voice, above the roar of a chopper's rotor blades… looking down at me, standing on the deck of a luxury liner in distress, thanks to the incendiary explosives you'd rigged… before that, your body, heavy with the scent of roses, looming close… your breath against my face… your lips, almost… but, I'd rejected them, too furious at your latest escapades, raging at the thought of young Tsubaki Kakyoin, a bullet in her back, fired so coolly, so mercilessly from your gun…_

Lifting his face from the embrace of the roses, he fingered a single petal…

_Do you pause on your way out, or in… to smell these… has your nose touched these recently?_

At the doors, which represented the entrance to the inner sanctum of the shrine of his lonely, one-sided love for the one who lived beyond them, he pressed his forehead and hands, palms and fingers against the wood, hearing the erratic beating of his heart, the whooshing sound of his rushing blood…

_You're there… beyond these doors… I can detect your scent, even from here… why exactly am I here? Why am I in love with you? Who… am I in love with? Do I love the man, who grew into adulthood from the boy I met in that house of tears, hidden beneath layers of sorrow? Or, do I love the man I met in Nagasaki, the one I've known thus far, with all his madness and wickedness? Do I find a kindred spirit in the latter persona, with mysterious abilities and a rage profound enough to kill, a past littered with corpses of the innocent? Or, is it just… the sex…? Am I simply in lust with the man who gave me the best sex I've ever had?_

His thoughts were suddenly drawn to his young partner, and the Shinigami acknowledged that his current muddled state was largely due to his fondness for the youth, whose affection and camaraderie he sincerely did not want to risk losing.

Rendered miserable by his confusion, his endless cross-examinations and quest to justify his infatuation with the man who was, at that very moment, not very far from where he stood, the Shinigami shook, attempting desperately to ignore the beginnings of sexual excitement, triggered by images of the ferocious, frantic sex he'd shared with the prepossessing man, recalling how he had, just before climaxing, been grateful, for the sex, and for the fact that the man thrusting pleasure into him was going to be his very own angel of death, finally bringing his guilt-ridden existence to an end.

Tsuzuki slid to the floor, wiping away an unexplainable presence of tears on his burning cheeks. As his breathing slowed and his erection faded, he heard muted strains of music…

Sharpening his sense of hearing, he pressed an ear to the smoothened wood.

_Someone… is it you…? Playing a piano… ah, Debussy… Arabesque Number One… I love this piece…_

Soothed, enchanted by the music, Tsuzuki indulged himself, allowing his subconscious to float away in his fantasies…

_I want it to be love, not lust… I want my faceless dream lover to have a face, yours… just like it had been that morning…_

He pictured himself in various scenarios of domestic bliss…

_Kazutaka, playing the piano, glancing at him lovingly, puckering his mouth to smack a kiss at him… eating his dreadful cooking, declaring it all to be delicious, not because it was, but because he loved him… Kazutaka, undressing him… gliding those fine hands over his skin, his lips following in their wake, covering him with kisses… Kazutaka's voice, strained with sexual pleasure, thrusting into his mouth… swallowing Kazutaka's come, hearing his declarations of love…_

When the strains of the piano finally faded, the Shinigami was horny again; his shaft, confined within his clothing, aching and pulsing for release. Crashing back down to reality, he cursed, chided himself, willing his erection away.

_Foolish dreams, Asato… get it together, fool! Focus on your mission… you've sworn to destroy Kazutaka's demon… be prepared for that task… do you even know how you're going to tackle it? And, be prepared… for disappointment…_

_'Seems to me like he has a thing for the tall dark dish… blubberin', like a kid…'_

_I brought you back to awareness… and the first person you ran to was… him… you're still in love with him, aren't you…?_

_Of course you would be… together since childhood… 'Kazu'… and 'Orimi'… Orimi… that's what you called him when you both were kids…_

_… … …_

_"Whatcha got there, Kazu? Lemme see…"_

_"S'nothing… hey, give it back!"_

_"Ooeeh! It's a little dress…"_

_"I made it for my mother's new doll…"_

_"It's very pretty, Kazu-chan. I'm sure your mother will love it…"_

_"Orimi… don't you think it's a sissy thing for a boy to do? Making dresses for dolls?"_

_"Nah, I don't think so at all… you do it because you love your mother and want to make her happy because she's so sad all the time, don't you, Kazu-chan? There's nothing wrong with that at all…"_

_"You're the only one who wouldn't laugh at me…"_

_"I let you call me 'Orimi', don't I? It sounds like a girl's name, but I don't mind it at all."_

_"You're my best friend, my only friend, Orimi-chan…"_

_… … …_

_"There… all done. Let's put it in a small cage so it won't be able to move around too much…"_

_"Waah! That's a fine splint you've made… do you think it can fly again, Kazu-chan?"_

_"Sure it will… trust me… its wing will heal in no time…"_

_"You're so cool… I just know you're going to be a great doctor someday…"_

_… … …_

These snippets, insights into the lives of young Kazutaka and Oriya, had been glimpsed during the Shinigami's telepathic sweeping of the house Oriya had sent him to…

_You were right, Okasan…_

Tsuzuki's mother had told him that places where people lived were special, because they retained the memories and emotions of their inhabitants, and that gifted people, seers, could discern these, and that some people were known to engage seers before moving into a house to learn if it had been a happy home and preferably not one that had gathered and absorbed too may sad emotions and memories.

_Childhood friendship that had blossomed into love… a pair of star-crossed lovers…  
It must have hurt you, Kazutaka… seeing your Oriya… and Watari… were you jealous?  
As jealous as I am right now?_

With an effort, the Shinigami endeavored to quash the burgeoning of fresh jealousy towards Oriya Mibu, the man who had captured the heart of Kazutaka Muraki. For however short their love affair had lasted, the fact painfully remained in Tsuzuki's heart that these two had at one time, shared a very close bond. He reminded himself, rather grudgingly, that he had no right at all to be jealous of their love that had formed before he had ever met them; and, who was he in the first place to even harbor a smidgen of jealousy just because he was smitten with the silver-haired beauty, even if he now wasn't quite sure as to what degree and in what sense this infatuation was?

Nevertheless, he was unconsciously pitting himself against his rival, the striking swordsman, lining up Oriya's attributes against his own. Tallying the results, he hung his head, silently declaring himself defeated by his imagined competitor. Even if he chose to disregard the length of time those two had been acquainted with each other, Oriya Mibu, with his wild, exotic beauty, stood in a league all his own, Tsuzuki conceded with humble honesty, ashamed of himself for having indulged in such childish behavior by assessing the man he had grown exceedingly fond of during his period of convalescence in Meifu.

Suddenly, the Shinigami's eyes bulged with apprehension.

_Hold on a second! Why the hell am I wallowing about in self-pity for? What about… Watari?Judging from what Daisuke saw… those two…_

_'This will be my last act of revenge…'_

Frown creases formed on his forehead as Tsuzuki experienced a fleeting frisson, a sense of foreboding.

_What are you scheming, Kazutaka? Are you…? Am I right in deducing that you want Oriya back…? I can't let you do that, not while that asshole demon's still pulling your strings… I won't have you hurting him again… and you'd better not be planning to hurt Watari, either…_

Shelving the troubles of his heart, considerably alarmed, he rose to his feet and faced the white doors. Opening his mind without caution, he sent telepathic tendrils into the rooms beyond them, attempting to seek out Kazutaka's thoughts. Ten seconds of nothing, and then… a maelstrom of sentiments, love, reverence, desire – horribly and twistedly erotic – and, linking and washing over all these was an element of malevolence, stifling, strangling, the sum total of it coalescing in massive doses that floored the Shinigami, leaving him floundering on the floor, gasping, struggling to slam his mental shields shut. Succeeding with an effort, his head throbbing with pain, he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet.

_That… thing's in there! I'm sure of it! Now's my chance! No, wait… I sensed a vast amount of power in there… too much of it for me to handle… and two against one… no, Tatsumi will have my hide if I make it out of there alive… I'll just go in for a looksee… try to get a glimpse of that demon…_

Still shaken from the telepathic overload of moments ago, Tsuzuki waited, regrouping his faculties until his breathing and heart rate slowed…

* * *

Meanwhile, Kazutaka Muraki stretched his naked form lazily on his bed, before sitting up and making his way to the bathroom. Pushing the door ajar, he looked over his shoulder at his master. 

"Are you coming? I have something to tell you, beloved master."

The demon, which seemed to be dozing, roused itself and trailed after the nude man eagerly.

Steam from running warm water jetting from the shower nozzle rose to mingle with the entity's form as it watched Kazutaka's hands, applying cleansing gel, move over the length and breadth of his body.

"I envy you, not having to bother with showers… and other such ablutions…"

Kazutaka's laughter faded, ended in a sound of throat clearing when he saw the red eyes glowering dangerously, sensing for certain he had touched the demon's raw spot.

"**What is it you wanted to tell me?"**

"Ah… yes… I want… to give you something…" purred Kazutaka, deliberately drawing out his words, teasing his master, "a very special… gift… as a symbol… of my… love… for you."

"**What might this 'something' be?"**

Silver hair scattered droplets of water when Kazutaka shook his head briskly, reaching for a towel.

"I'm-not-gonna-tell-you," lilted Kazutaka melodically, in the manner of a child's taunt, "It's a… surprise… but I guarantee that you'll be… delighted with it."

"**In that case, I'll look forward to receiving it."**

"Believe me," Kazutaka husked, turning sultry eyes to the entity, "my… excitement will far exceed yours when I present it to you… Give me a week to… acquire it… and make other preparations… I want everything to be absolutely perfect… can you be patient… and wait for me to summon you?"

"**As you wish, Kazutaka… I'll be waiting, and… anticipating… can't you at least give me a little hint as to…"**

An expression of disapproval and a long, wagging finger silenced the demon as Kazutaka clicked his tongue.

"No, no! How impatient you are, master! No ruining the surprise! I myself must contain my glee… I can't wait to witness your delight… After you," he drawled, bowing to allow the dark, shapeless cloud to leave the bathroom before him.

Consumed by curiosity and excitement, the demon hovered behind the man pulling on a pair of skimpy swim trunks.

"Please, allow me to show you out, master."

* * *

Although he was in ghost form, Asato Tsuzuki instinctively flattened himself, his back against a wall of the lounge, increasing the masking of his presence when he heard the sound of a door opening and the approach of soft footfalls in one of the corridors, muffled by carpeting. 

Gaping, he wasn't sure which of the two beings entering the room was the more heart stopping – the swirling black mist with several ghoulish red eyes, or, the scantily-clad body of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki.

From an aesthetic point of view, the latter won hands down, the sight of those long, pale legs weakening the Shinigami's knees. With a mental slap, he concentrated on the events unfolding before his eyes, venomous with cold hatred when they gazed at the cloud.

_It's… a freakin' cloud, man! Oriya hadn't imagined it…_

The Shinigami immediately feared two things: firstly, the difficulties and near impossibility of containing such a thing; secondly, that Daisuke's accent and manner of speech may have permanently rubbed off on him.

Near a window, the two, man and demon cloud, seemed to be bidding each other a silent farewell, Kazutaka smiling beguilingly, sighing when the mass of mist moved towards him, enveloping him.

_What on earth is the matter with you, Kazutaka? Why are you unable to shake loose from the hold of that thing, even after knowing you were deceived? From what I've seen, you certainly aren't a pushover when it comes to one-on-ones with demons… I've seen you control a whole bagful of them… Or, are you so far gone that you see no way out? Have you resigned yourself to your fate? Hmmph, we'll see about that… just you wait, demon dung!_

As Tsuzuki observed, the demon streamed out through the open window. He remained stockstill, waited for a full five minutes while Kazutaka froze in imitation of the Shinigami's stance. Beads of sweat oozed from Tsuzuki's forehead as the seconds ticked by, his sight pinned on the man at the window, marveling that he did not seem to feel or mind the cold air of late autumn wafting in through the open window, especially at this high up a level, and considering his current clothing, or rather, lack of it.

When he finally decided to move, the doctor turned his back to the window, brought his hand to his mouth and tapped his lips with his index finger, the broadening smile lengthening his lips. A short, grunt of mirth, a sound the Shinigami was so accustomed to hearing, swelled into full-blown laughter, became whines and wheezes as Kazutaka's glee-wracked body collapsed to lie prone on his belly on a couch. Although he offered a wonderful display of bare skin to the Shingami, the wild laughter unnerved him. Eventually, the sound wound down to a series of short, hiccupped chuckles with Kazutaka springing to his bare feet. He seemed to be caught in deep concentration as he swept his fingers through his hair, pushing the curtain of damp bangs from his face.

The trespassing Shinigami let out a gasp and his guard down along with it, immediately cursing himself silently when he saw Kazutaka's head cock to one side, frowning with darting, slitted eyes – two, normal, matching eyes!

He held his breath and waited for what seemed an eternity to him, shielding his thoughts and shock at the sight of that restored eye and cloaking his presence to maximum levels, while the doctor glanced slowly around the room in an attitude of sensing, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. Tsuzuki's moment of alarm passed when the object of his scrutiny shrugged and bent to pick up a cigarette case and lighter from the coffee table.

The man, pacing and smoking, provided more eye delights, a pastime preferable to pondering about the things he had witnessed, lest the annoyingly perceptive and alert doctor picked up on his thoughts. Cigarette reduced to its butt, Kazutaka extinguished it in an ashtray and reached this time for the receiver of a cordless phone set on the low table. Seating himself on the couch once more, he placed his feet on the table, crooking his legs. He appeared to hesitate in placing his call, an expression of pain crossing his attractive face as he pressed his lips firmly together in a tight line. To Tsuzuki, it seemed as though the doctor was suppressing the act of bursting into tears, a sight that deeply saddened the Shinigami.

With an audible deep breath, and courage apparently summoned, he punched in the numbers on the handset…

"Yoshida…? Why are you answering… never mind… let me speak to him… don't give me any lies or excuses, Yoshida… I can damn well guess what state he's in… just put the phone to his ear, all right? Please…"

The voice Kazutaka spoke with was tremulous; his hand shook as he covered his eyes and waited, huffing with impatience…

"Orimi…?" A long sigh of relief hissed from the doctor's throat.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, it's me…" His voice cracked on the word, 'me', tears coursed down his cheeks while his frame shook with silent sobs.

"I… I'm all right… and you…?"

Apart from that one time, in the church in Nagasaki, and the other, when tears had flowed from Kazutaka's sleeping eyes whilst he had been tied to the bed in his hotel room, two occasions he had seen him crying, plus this one – among all three, this Muraki currently in his sight, broken, in anguish, seemed heartbreakingly genuine. The grimace of grief and pain yanked at the Shinigami's heartstrings and unbidden tears welled and overflowed in sympathy for him.

"I can't make out what you're saying… Orimi… please, try to focus…"

Tsuzuki watched Kazutaka rocking back and forth, swiping at his wet cheeks.

"Are you going there… today…? I have to see you… I need you… please, my love…"

His tension rising, the Shinigami was torn into two – by his feelings for Kazutaka, and by his sense of duty. He cringed, dreading the thought of the coming days, and the unpleasant business they would surely bring…

"Listen carefully… don't let anyone, and I mean anyone, know where you're headed… I knew I could count on you… you're my best friend, Orimi…"

"All right… I'll meet you there… tomorrow morning, say… ten…? And, Orimi… I love you."

_Oh no, oh no you don't, Muraki! Is this for real…? Or are you pulling a fast one on him…? I've got to alert Seiichiro…_

The invisible form of the death guardian wilted. He'd fought against the jealousy of moments ago, came to terms with what Daisuke had witnessed and imparted to him, but when he heard that last, soft declaration, Tsuzuki couldn't pretend it didn't hurt him. Whether it was sincere or merely a lie to lure Oriya back to him, the flame crowning the torch of love the Shinigami carried for the brooding man seated on the couch still burned intensely, confirming that what he felt for him was indeed love. The power of that love buttressed his determination to obliterate the demon that had come between Muraki and Mibu, wreaking such havoc upon their lives, their love. He decided that even if Muraki's words were a ploy designed to sway Oriya, he would do all he could, with the aid of his comrades, to prevent Oriya from being hurt further.

Watching Kazutaka disappear into the kitchen, he toyed with the idea of breaking into his mind, but dismissed it immediately, remembering the doctor's mind reading abilities. He'd never given any serious thought before to Kazutaka's many extraordinary talents, but now, he sensed there was more, much more to the man than he ever believed possible – his regenerated eye, and his miraculous recovery of the horrific wound he's inflicted, were irrefutable attestations to his mysterious, supernatural attributes. The Shinigami concluded that any attempt on his part to impinge upon the mind of such a being would surely be detected.

Noises beyond the kitchen door indicated that Muraki was preparing his breakfast. Prior to spiriting out of the apartment, the guardian smelled toast and coffee…

His feet made contact with the sidewalk opposite the building, in front of which Daisuke paced, intent on his surveillance. Tsuzuki smiled at the young sweeper's commitment to his duties, his indefatigable energy and decided he'd have no problems with recommending his transfer to Meifu's Shinigami trainee unit.

After impatiently listening to the series of ringing tones, Tatsumi's voice crackled. "Sato?"

"Seiichi, get him to Meifu without delay! Muraki's planning to meet him tomorrow, although where is anybody's guess…"

The tense tone of the secretary's voice interrupting him was a clear indication of Tatsumi's mood. "Just when I got here, Lord Enma summoned me to impart his instructions and by the time I returned, it was too late; Oriya wasn't at Kokakuro… not only that, Yoshida is insisting he doesn't know where he's gone. Right now, I'm waiting for Taka to get here. Yoshida just might be a little more forthcoming with him…"

"Understood. I'll stay here and tail Muraki. We can't take any chances by letting these two meet up. And, Seiichi, I got a good look at that demon…"

Tsuzuki gave Tatsumi the details, describing all that he'd seen. "I don't like it one bit. Muraki's behaving strangely… can you reach the Chief, or better yet, Lord Enma, and tell him about the demon? I need to get his input… how on earth do we contain a thing like that?"

"Roger that. Good work! However, I can't stress it enough, be on your guard where Muraki's concerned. I suspect, not only from what we've seen so far, that he's not a run-of-the-mill mortal…"

"You too, Seiichi? I won't argue with you… get this, that false eye of his is gone! He now has two good eyes; plus there's no trace at all of that head wound…"

"There you go. Here's the plan: if Taka gets results with Yoshida, we'll head to where Oriya's gone. I'll leave Muraki to you. Our objective's to get them both to Meifu. It might prove difficult for you to call me once Muraki's on the move, but we'll most likely join up once these two make contact. If Oriya's man doesn't spill, I'll be depending on you to lead us to them. Call me or Taka once he arrives at his destination…"

"Got it. Mmm, Seiichi, just a thought, but you might want to get Soka to help… he could get into Yoshida's mind…"

"Good idea…"

"But don't bring Soka with you when you meet me…"

"I wasn't planning to…"

"Right. We're all set for now. See you soon."

"Don't do anything reckless, Sato…"

"I hear you, _aniki_."

* * *

Oriya Mibu's car pulled up at the drop-off bay of the departure terminal of Kyoto's airport. His chauffeur placed his overnighter beside his booted feet and bowed. 

"When would you like me to pick you up, Mibu-sama?"

"I'll call Yoshida once I know."

"Very well, master. Have a safe trip."

Squatting, Oriya removed two packages from the side compartment of his bag and stood. He seemed unsteady on his feet upon rising, prompting his driver to rush forward to grab him.

"Mibu-sama, are you all right?"

"It's nothing, just a dizzy spell… it will pass," insisted Oriya. "Hiko, please convey my good wishes to your wife. Your first child is due any day now, right?"

"Why, yes master," replied Hiko, a little bashfully, but pleased by his employer's interest. "You must come to our home after the baby's born. My wife and I will be very happy if you shared our joy…" The chauffeur paused at his master's sad face.

"I thank you, Hiko… I would like nothing more than to do that… this… is for you, a small token of my appreciation to you for your loyal service to me…" Oriya smiled, and held out one of the parcels to his employee.

Flustered, Hiko waved his hands. "No, master, I cannot…"

"Please, Hiko… honor me by taking it."

In light of his master's soft entreaty, Hiko accepted the gift, bowing before the tall, suddenly distressed-looking man. "I thank you sincerely, Mibu-sama."

"Please give this one… to Yoshida…" The voice of the master of Kokakuro broke at the utterance of his servant's name.

Hiko looked into the gaze of cheerless brown eyes, the tears in them deeply unsettling him, tears that overflowed and were quickly swiped by a shaking hand. Silently, he took the second package.

"Master…?"

He fell silent, taken aback at the sight of his master, bowing to him. Before he could collect himself, Oriya swiftly bent to retrieve his traveling bag.

"Sayonara, Hiko-san."

"Sayo-"

But his master had already turned briskly and almost ran through the doors when they opened automatically.

Perplexed, the young chauffeur hugged both the parcels to his chest and impulsively dashed through the gap of the closing glass doors, only to spot his master, strap of his bag slung over his shoulder, disappearing through the doorway that led to the departure hall for passengers of private planes.

"Sayonara, Mibu-san," he whispered, baffled by the heaviness of his heart and by the presence of tears in his eyes.

* * *

Asato Tsuzuki, standing in the center of Kazutaka Muraki's living room, the sense of disquiet he'd experienced earlier deepening, listened for sounds that would reveal the doctor's present location. 

_Let's see what you're up to now, Kazutaka. A swim, I would guess, judging from your attire…_

The Shinigami irritably ignored the subconscious voice that told him that he could very well continue his surveillance with Daisuke, instead of returning to Muraki's apartment, intent on obtaining a further dose of guilty pleasures. Sweeping his surroundings with his acute sense of hearing, he heard the sudden impinging of music, not from a single piano this time, but the sounds of choir voices blending harmoniously with those of a wide range of musical instruments.

_"Exaudi orationem meam…" (1)_

The opening strains of the opera filled his ears, while memories of the evening he first heard this very music in King Enma's study, encroached upon his thoughts…

_… … …_

_"Come, Asato… this is my private domain. No need for formalities here…"_

_"I… you are still my sovereign, Sire…"_

_"That may be so, but I insist that you feel at complete ease. Come, sit here," the king's hand indicated the armchair opposite the one in which he was folded, before a fireplace, ablaze with flames._

_He obeyed, only to the extent of adopting a perch on the chair instead of fully settling into the embrace of the warm, soft velvet._

_Enma turned his eyes from the flames in the hearth, the leaping tongues of fire crackling and burning the kindling there casting scarlet highlights on the king's black hair, and an eerie crimson glow in his obsidian eyes. Meeting those eyes, Tsuzuki shivered involuntarily. Those eyes possessed the power to subjugate, and when Enma so desired, to instill deathly fear in all those who looked upon them, subordinates and souls of the departed alike._

_At that point in time, Tsuzuki had arrived, just barely, at the stage where he could meet that gaze without visibly flinching and lowering his eyes. That evening, Enma had seemed to perceive the effect he roused from his subjects and had softened his expression, smiling affably, so that the Shinigami's heart had stopped racing._

_Three days prior to receiving his king's invitation, Tsuzuki had taken his oath of office – to serve as a Shinigami in Meifu, the kingdom that held jurisdiction over the souls of mortal beings – after a five-year apprenticeship. On the day before, he had completed his first assignment as a reaper of souls._

_Enma's smile was comforting, a salve to his burdened heart, and the Shinigami, desperately in need of the warmth and further comfort of another's touch, had warred with his urge to collapse on the floor by his sovereign's feet, a king who at that moment appeared as a loving father to him, lay his head on his knee and weep._

_He gasped when Enma spoke, voice soft, inflected with kindness…_

_"Do just as you desire, Asato… cry as much as you want… and tell me all about it, when you are ready."_

_And so, Enma's gloved hand came to rest on his head while Tsuzuki proceeded to dampen Enma's trousered knee with his tears. Applying the king's offered handkerchief to his cheeks, he shakily recounted his first mission._

_"It was… just as you said it would be, my lord… I… was drawn to it… to him… to his spirit… it pulled me… a lure, which I couldn't resist… it was like… my blood, my heart cried out for it… I loved it, but hated it… that feeling… when I finally possessed his soul, it was… almost… satisfying… I'm so ashamed, my lord…"_

_"This is what it means, and entails, to be a Shinigami, Asato. The instant you took your oath of duty, the dead became a magnet to you. As you have experienced, the pull is irresistible; you cannot fight it. The feelings you experienced did not originate from you, nor were they inherent in you, so there is nothing to be ashamed of. The dead are not your prey, even though it may seem that way to you… in the same way you are drawn to them because of what you chose to become, they cannot hide from you… they need you to guide them to where they should go, just as your being desires to find them. Becoming a Shinigami is not for just anyone or everyone… it's a heavy mantle indeed to wear, Asato. For this reason, apprenticeships can last for years…"_

_"I thought I was ready… I was so full of confidence… now, I just feel so foolish…"_

_Enma's fingers gently stroked mahogany strands on Tsuzuki's head. "You were ready. I wouldn't have permitted you to take that step had I deemed you were not. As with almost any undertaking, the theoretical training you received never really prepares you for the actual tasks. Don't be overly hard on yourself… you will do well, very well, and in time, it will become less unsettling, trust me…"_

_"I'm sorry for being so weak, crying like this…"_

_"You're not the first to react this way, and you won't be the last… I'll let you in on a little secret… promise me you won't tell…"_

_Nodding his head vigorously, Tsuzuki warmed to his sovereign's broad grin. "I promise."_

_"I'll hold you to that, Asato. If Seiichiro ever finds out I told you, I'm certain he would do me harm… that is, if I were anyone other than the king…" Enma paused to chuckle, his dark eyes twinkling, brimming with an affection that surprised the Shinigami. "Ah, he's a good man, and I'm very fond of him… I assure you I'm not laughing at his expense. You may be relieved to learn that he too had a dreadful time of it, after his first run as a Shinigami. The trouble was, he kept it to himself. As with you, I invited him here… oh, he had me fooled all right, all the way – told me everything was perfectly fine, smiled, laughed, said it had been a breeze. A week later, I called him to my office concerning a particularly troublesome case he had been assigned to – I won't go into the details of it, but I can say I didn't envy him at all – I was shocked at his appearance! He'd dropped almost half his weight…"_

_The guardian's jaw fell open. "You don't say!"_

_"I do say… he looked very poorly, and that's putting it mildly. His partner at the time – and this bore significance to his behavior – was Miyoko Kawamura; you're acquainted with her?"_

_"Mmm… yes, she's now at Psychics, right?"_

_"The very one. She took her oath at the same time Seiichiro had. Now, Miyoko is… a daunting woman, but a wonderful one, nonetheless… she possesses nerves of steel and suffered no difficulties whatsoever… poor Seiichiro! It was just his luck to be partnered with her._

_"Determined to get him to confide in me, I invited him to dinner after I saw him in that dreadful state. My heart went out to him – he'd actually become anorexic! He toyed with his food, noticeably green in the face. To please me, the precious man swallowed a mouthful, gagged and bolted… straight to the washroom. Though near to collapse, he was taken aback to discover me waiting me outside the door. I couldn't very well leave him to make it back to the dining room alone, and I had been correct in my assumptions… he swayed, I caught him. Coming to, he was appalled to find he was sat upon my lap and struggled to get away, but… heh, I guess he forgot just whom he was up against… I held fast to him, effected a calming spell upon him, well… more like a truth spell, heh… and it all came out: the guilt, the shame, everything you felt, the self-condemnation…_

_"The most devastating reason for his misery was he didn't want to lose face… lose out in any way, for that matter, to Miyoko."_

_Enma grinned again, widely enough to display four dimples on his cheek, two on each one, and two rows of fine-looking teeth._

_The Shinigami felt his heart expand, and for an instant, he forgot that the man at whose feet he sat – brawny of build, all solid sinewy muscle and iron-hard bone, with hair and short beard of the blackest shade of black, of severe but handsome visage, hard eyes extraordinarily softened to gentleness – was his king; a king whose hands and body were reputed to be icily cold, a coldness that stemmed from his heart, it was surreptitiously said, which radiated outwards into the air surrounding him, hence the reason he always wore gloves when in company, it was whispered, and always had a fire going in every room he settled in… Rumors fanned the belief that whoever ascended Meifu's throne acquired a heart and body of deathly coldness… The hearth in the Great Hall of Judgment, where he donned his voluminous black robes of office, was huge; sources from the gossip mills claimed it was King Enma XV who commissioned it to be installed there, for the reason that he did not want the souls of the departed to be troubled by the icy temperature of it when they appeared before him…_

_"Yes, the whole man-woman power play, dissensions of the great divide, which sex is stronger contest… Seiichiro's wretchedness was perfectly understandable, wouldn't you agree, Asato?"_

_"Definitely!"_

_Enma winked at the much-relieved looking reaper. "Heh… in the most recent survey conducted, the Shinigami girls trounced the boys, yet again, I'm afraid… for having the lower percentage of post-stress syndrome…"_

_"Huh? Hmm…"_

_"Now, don't hate me for saying this, Asato, but it appears the members of the fairer sex have an extraordinary aptitude for the profession of Reaper…"_

_Tsuzuki hoisted an eyebrow suspiciously at his king's gleeful smirk. "You seem very pleased about it, Sire…"_

_Enma slapped his knee heartily. "Hah hah! Do I? Well… the truth is, I dearly wish for the boys to win, for once, believe me… when they do manage to beat the girls, I intend to hold a special commemorative gala… it's been centuries since the girls have been toppled. The results of the last survey proved it to be a very closely fought contest, but the lovely ladies held on to their title… the delight you see on my face is there because I won several bets… made with your Chief and the Candle Count, among others… heh…"_

_"So that explains their foul moods of late…"_

_The Shinigami joined in his king's eruption of abandoned laughter, ending with both men wiping tears of mirth from their cheeks._

_"Coming back to Seiichiro… after a period of treatment, he was put right as rain, raring to go, and as you know him now… in fact, it was he who came up with the suggestion for rookie reapers to have practical field training, and observe the veterans at their jobs, to better prepare them."_

_"Mmm, he's awesome! I have nothing but admiration for him and hope to be just like him… someday…"_

_"I told you that story to help you feel better… do you?"_

_"Very much so… thank you, my lord. You've helped me a great deal."_

_"I'm glad to hear it. Think you can handle a little sherry now? I didn't want to offer you any before now because of the state you were in. One's stomach can't withstand any alcohol when one is anxious…_

_"Tell me about the case itself. Did it present any difficulties?"_

_Tsuksuki stared into the pool of golden liquor in the glass he held. "None at all, milord. The subject, eighty when he passed on, was caught in a quandary. He…" the soul reaper paused to draw breath and exhale heavily, "couldn't let go… his wife was ailing; their only child had died young… he was upset, and bitter… couldn't leave her… alone… it was by her hospital bed, to where his spirit had flown and never left after his death… it was there he finally consented to take hold of my hands… thanking me for being so patient… I never left him either, couldn't… had to stay with him, wanted to protect him, comfort him… and… the feeling I felt for him… it was like…"_

_The Shinigami couldn't go on speaking._

_Enma prodded, whispering, "Love?"_

_Tsuzuki nodded._

_"That is how it should be. The soul you seek is like your lover, for whom you will desire to help, care for, protect, and love."_

_"I… understand so much more now, Sire… I'm not afraid of those feelings anymore."_

_"Excellent, my lad! Tell me about Fujiwara… how do you feel about being partnered with him?"_

_"He was very supportive and patient… he has such a gentle demeanor. I was rather nervous to be paired with him at first, because he has so much experience…"_

_"Learn all you can from him, while you can… did he mention his request for a transfer?"_

_"He did. He has a month to go before he joins the counseling division… I gathered he's really looking forward to it."_

_"Mmm…" Enma fingers fell into his habit of stroking his beard while he pondered, "Yasuteru Fujiwara will do very well as a Counselor… he possesses a quiet strength. His personality is perfectly suited for that profession…"_

_During their conversation, the music playing softly in the background had been this very opera…_

_"Sire, what… is this music?"_

_"Oh! I do apologize! Is it too morbidly mournful for you? I should have realized, and put on something a little more… what is it the mortals say…? Ah, 'upbeat'… forgive me…"_

_"No, milord! It's somehow soothing… sorrowful, but hauntingly beautiful…"_

_"Ah! I'm so glad you like it! It's one of my favorites, Mozart's 'Requiem in D minor'."_

_After they dined, Enma gave the CD to the Shinigami, insisting that he keep it, and Tsuzuki had grown to love it…  
… … …_

He turned his head, following the source of the music, casting his eyes on a stairwell situated in an alcove at the far wall of the room, deducing they led to the upper floor of the maisonette, and most likely to the pool…

_"Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus… cum vix justus sit securus?" (2)_

On the landing at the top of the stairs, the music swelled as he stood in front of a steel-and-glass door. He diffused his form through it and found himself in a pool solarium, the length and breadth of it covering the area of the floor below. Overhead, he saw the sky through the glass-paneled ceiling, turned a beautiful shade of cerulean by the mid-morning sun, and pure white puffs of clouds appearing to creep at a lazy pace as the Earth spun on its axis, their wispy shapes altering. Comfortable warmth wrapped the Shinigami, warmth released by air-conditioning, numerous halogen light bulbs fixed on the ceiling, and the heated water of the pool itself.

Tsuzuki stared at the still, glassy water, given the illusion of blackness by the black marble tiles lining the walls and base of the pool, shifting his sight slowly to focus on the thing that hitherto moved in a corner of his peripheral – the solitary figure at the far end of the solarium.

The music, lilting voices of the choir, solemn, emotive, laid siege to his ears…

_"Ingemisco, tamquam reus… culpa rubet vultus meus… (3)_

He willed his body to rise, hovering with his feet three feet above the floor, to glide, thereby avoiding his footsteps being detected, closer to where Muraki limbered up for his dip.

Biceps, triceps and abs tensed and rippled. The wide girth of shoulders and chest tapering to slender waist, flaring, very slightly at hips…

As Tsuzuki swallowed and watched, arms swung as Kazutaka twisted his torso, displaying the suppleness of his form. Seized amethysts helplessly fell under the spell of the doctor's allure.  
He licked his lips when he saw the tiny, sunken cavity of his navel, to be drawn inevitably to the swell of genitals underneath white cloth, as the man approached a diving board, intermittently giving all his splendid limbs a shake to loosen muscles. Mounting the board, the pale skin of his body glowing with the blush of his blood that rushed beneath it, Muraki covered the length of the narrow, gently bouncing board. Turning so that his back faced the water, he positioned his toes on the edge of the board, heels unsupported, and assumed a savior-on-the-cross stance. He froze in this position for a spell of several seconds…

"Preces meae non sunt dignae… cor contritum quasi cinis" (4)

Kazutaka's voice, intoning these words solemnly, stunned Tsuzuki. Lines from the _Recordare_ and_ Confutatis_ stanzas of _Requiem_, he knew them intimately, having recited them like mantras, over and over, during the darkest moments of his torment.

For the observing Shinigami, time seemed to freeze to a halt as well, his eyes glued to the platinum hair of the head tilted to one side. He could not feel the beating of his heart, not hear his breathing. The man, still on the diving board, became blurred in his vision, to be gradually replaced by an image of Kazutaka, bound to a black cross, his skin punctured by numerous wounds from which gushed torrents of blood. At the foot of the cross, he saw himself, collapsed, face contorted with grief as the crucified man's blood drenched him. He heard another's cry of sorrow and looked up… on the other side of the cross, knelt Yutaka, his grief-twisted face uplifted… two figures were bound to the single cross! As Tsuzuki stared into the vision, his sight seemed to soar and glide to the other side, where the blond Shinigami wept… behind Kazutaka, hung Oriya, his blood dripping on to Yutaka…

When the disturbing vision faded, the room spun, dizzying Tsuzuki. He clamped his eyes shut and drew air quietly into his lungs.

_What was that…?! I… must be more exhausted than I thought… my mind's playing tricks with me…_

He opened his eyes in time to see Kazutaka's body tilt backwards and plunge to the water, displacing it with a loud splash. Sinking to the bottom of the pool, his feet kicked against the tiles. Ascending vertically to the surface he began a leisurely backstroke, propelling his body towards the far end of the sizeable pool. Upon reaching it, Kazutaka rolled, kicked and glided below the water's surface, a magnificent male nymph who had extricated the Shinigami's heart from its prison. Just like Ulysees, who had lashed himself to the mast of his ship to prevent himself from succumbing to the lure of the Sirens, Tsuzuki reigned in his monstrous urges and anchored his heart, securing it heroically, lest it leap, plunge and drown in the depths of his desire.

Cutting through the spray of water, sinewy arms and fleet feet powered Muraki's freestyle strokes. After several laps, the tall swimmer switched to butterfly strokes, which proved terribly titillating to Kazutaka's unseen observer, those powerful shoulders and arms working in tandem with a lean, undulating torso. The rhythmic appearances of a taut ass, barely covered by tight, wet spandex, were the high points of the doctor's athletic performance.

But the grand finale was yet to come…

After completing more backstroke laps, Kazutaka finally hauled himself effortlessly out of the water, padded to a table to grab a towel and proceeded to towel off. Wet swim trunks were peeled and kicked off. The desire Tsuzuki thought he had firmly shackled launched a full rebellion, emerging victorious. Purple orbs targeted glistening, silver curls, soft genitals, touched and moved by fingers, buffed dry…

Having had one too many fruitless erections, it proved too much for the sex-starved reaper of souls when Kazutaka placed a foot on a chair to dry the valley between the globes of his ass. Tsuzuki's hands flew to grip the spot where his distended shaft jerked and released…

Sufficiently recovered from his spontaneous release, the Shinigami beheld Kazutaka, stretched out on his back on a leveled deck chair, wriggling his toes. Silently swearing at himself, he spirited back to Daisuke, startling the young sweeper.

"Whoa!"

"Keep a close eye on things. I'll be back in half an hour."

Showered, clothes changed, he was back in front of the apartment building. "Take a break kid, I'll take over for you."

"Cool! I could use one. Thanks, man. Here… put this in your ear," the sweeper handed the reaper his receiver earpiece…

Before long, Daisuke reappeared, looking much more invigorated and suitably garbed for the nippy night air. The temperature dipped as the hours passed, prompting Tsuzuki to don leather gloves and turn up his coat collar. In front of him, Daisuke occupied himself by dancing, sliding his feet across the sidewalk, stopping his energetic shimmying occasionally to gawk at attractive women passing by, clutching at his heart and faking swoons. Amused by the young man's antics, the Shinigami chuckled, shaking his head, wishing he could be as carefree as the sweeper…

A lightening of the sky signaled the approach of sunrise. Daisuke was in the midst of a lengthy discourse of his life story, from which Tsuzuki learned the livewire youth came from a middle-class family, the middle child of three children born to his parents; he loved soccer, basketball – had been the captain of his high school's basketball team, was an avid fan of rock music and adored Hot Chilli Peppers, Kiss and Queen. His life had come to an abrupt end five years before when a bus had careened out of control, ploughing into a bus stop where he had been standing. He had been nineteen.

Tsuzuki had not been expecting it when the young man, with dyed blond hair straggling to his shoulders, raced into the details of the last day of his life. The guardian felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rise as his body gave a sudden start, when the sweeper's words sank into him. He marveled that Daisuke's tone had not altered in any way – he sounded no different from when he had been ecstatically announcing to his stakeout partner earlier that his favorite basketball team had won the prefectural championship second year running – and that his expression and comportment hadn't lost any of their buoyancy.

"There I was, plugged in, totally into the groove, listenin' to Peppers' latest CD – my little sis gave it to me the day before, coz it was my birthday," the sweeper snapped his fingers, "wham, just like that, never knew what hit me."

Tsuzuki kept his eyes averted and head lowered, his thoughts wandering to the youthful, pensive face of Hisoka Kurosaki, and spoke without forethought.

"How… did you feel… about it… dying so young? Ah, gods! Daisuke, I'm sorry!"

"Hey, take it easy, man! I'm cool with it." Shrugging, the sweeper grinned, flashing his perfect teeth. "Never had any hang-ups about it; I'm the type who never lets much get me down, ya know?" Daisuke abruptly cocked his head, pressing a finger to the receiver at his ear, his other hand and fingers fashioned to resemble a gun pointed at Tsuzuki.

"You're on, man. Subject should be within our sights in a minute… red Porsche."

On full alert, the Shinigami squared his shoulders and pelted round the street corner where he could see the entrance/exit gap of the car park, hearing the shrill screeching of tires. The elegant bulk of gleaming, red metal came hurtling out of the ramp. At street level, Tsuzuki distinguished Muraki at the wheel, pausing for the obligatory right, left and right again, revving the engine, before swinging the car on to the road.

"Luck to ya, Tsuzuki," called the sweeper, who had shadowed him, as the Shinigami soared upwards to begin his pursuit.

Due to the early hour, the Porsche's progress was unhindered by Tokyo's rush hour and gridlocked traffic, and twenty minutes later, it was out of the city limits with its airborne escort, a very tense Shinigami.

Inside of three hours, Tsuzuki tailed the car as it turned on to the ramp to Arashiyama Prefecture, where the cone of the mountain of the same name loomed in the distance. Arriving at the town itself, it did not stop but continued moving for a further half an hour. When the red sports car turned into a minor road and then a car park where it finally came to a halt, his destination became clear to his invisible escort. As the doctor's long legs swung out of the car, Tsuzuki had a bird's eye view of a sprawling cemetery, dotted with a vast number and variety of headstones and grave adornments, crisscrossed by foot lanes. He watched the man stride briskly through the main gates. Keeping the moving platinum-haired head firmly in his sight, he contacted Tatsumi, who answered immediately.

"Where are you, Sato? Turns out Oriya's man really had no clue where he went…"

Tersely, he gave the secretary his location. "Get here now, Seiichi. It's almost ten, it's going down anytime now…"

He spotted, a hundred meters away, the familiar shape and the veil of trailing dark hair of Oriya Mibu, legs folded on the grassy ground…

Below him, the tails of Muraki's long charcoal overcoat swirled as he turned into the avenue lined by Weeping Willows. The man quickened his strides, having obviously caught sight of his former lover…

Fixing his jaw squarely, Tsuzuki's tension mounted. A rushing, a disturbance of the air on either side of him signaled the arrival of his comrades – Watari on his left, Tatsumi on his right – and he sighed with relief. Directing a nod of acknowledgment at the golden-haired man, he was troubled by his glum face. Turning to look at Tatsumi, he noted the expression of grim concentration. Within moments, Tsuzuki felt it: spiritual energy humming beneath the surface of the ground below them – Tatsumi was commanding his own shadow, forming it into a circle around Oriya, widening it in degrees. After completing his task, the secretary zipped in front of his comrades, indicating with hand gestures for them to follow him.

Dropping to the ground in their spirit forms, the trio huddled close behind a cluster of cedar trees. Watari tore his gaze away from his paramour, who turned his head and rose to his feet at Muraki's approach…

Tsuzuki rasped in barely audible whispers, "What's the plan, Seiichi?"

"I'll attempt to trap them within my shadow vortex and transport them to Meifu…"

The shadow manipulator hesitated, puffing out anxious breath. "If that fails, then I'll have to rely on… back-up…"

Tsuzuki narrowed his eyes, glancing at Yutaka; the blond's lack of surprise confirmed he had been pre-empted on 'plan B'.

"Back-up?"

Tatsumi nodded. "Urasawa… and two of his side-kicks…"

Disbelieving and wide violet eyes stared. "What?"

"I wasn't in favor of it, but we can't take any chances… Lord Enma insisted they accompany us."

"You mean they're already here?"

"Yes."

"But… I can't sense them… where are they?"

"Close. You won't sense them… it's their specialty… the so-called 'elites'… their abilities far surpass ours. In the event that Muraki breaches my shadow vacuum, Urasawa will take over," a shadow crossed Seiichiro's face, as though he found the thought distasteful.

Lowered lids obscured bright purple jewels as Tsuzuki squinted suspiciously at blue ones darkening behind glass. "What's wrong, Seiichi?"

"It's just… what I've heard from Konoe Senpai… the specials' commander is apparently quite ruthless… his methods of capture smack strongly of… lynching…"

Tsuzuki gasped while beside him, Yutaka sighed and lowered his head, his hair effectively shielding his face.

"If it comes to that, which I dearly hope it won't, give me your word you won't go ballistic, Sato… we have to get these two to Meifu, 'by any means necessary', those were our king's words."

"But what will Urasawa…"

"I honestly can't say anymore. I've never seen Urasawa in action. If what I've been told is true, I can say I do not approve of his methods. But if his intervention proves necessary, we'll have to accept it…"

"I can't promise you anything. If he, or the others hurt them in any way, I won't just stand by and watch," hissed Tsuzuki, darting a glance at Yutaka. The blond nodded with relief and gratitude; his expression gained sudden defiance when he swung his sight to Oriya and his companion, standing in front of a pair of grave markers.

"I'm with Sato. I won't tolerate any violence…"

"Look, both of you, don't force me to pull rank. If I fail, Urasawa has the mandate to take over, by order of King Enma. Getting them to Meifu takes precedence over… everything else!"

Seiichiro stiffened and lifted his hands to stop the pair of open-mouthed Shinigami from objecting further, staring down their angry glares into passive acquiescence. "Your _fuda_ spells won't be effective – they aren't spirits. I'll do my best, I promise you." The secretary's stony face masked his rising uneasiness, a knot in the pit of his stomach…

_If my suspicions are correct, that you, Muraki, are of true immortal descent… then I'll probably fail… as much as I detest the thought of Urasawa's assistance, I'll have no choice… and what Taka told me about Oriya and the goddess Sanae is cause for more worry…_

Cutting off his stream of negative thoughts, Seiichiro turned his sight to Muraki and Mibu.

"Wait, Seiichi." Tsuzuki grabbed the secretary's arm. Under his fingers, Seiichi's bicep felt iron-hard and he knew that he was preparing himself, willing strength into his body, strength he would eventually expend on his shadow vortex.

"What is it now, Sato?" A patient smile curled the secretary's lips.

"Not yet, _aniki_… Oriya is…" Squinting ahead, the Shinigami frowned. "Nakatsu Mibu… and Okime Mibu… those are most likely the headstones of his parents' graves… allow him to at least finish paying his respects to his deceased loved ones, please." In his peripheral, he saw Yutaka's shoulders sag.

"Of course, Sato."

In place of a hug, Tsuzuki squeezed Seiichiro's arm, affection surging through him for the man who smiled at him with his deep blue eyes, feeling a rush of gratitude for all his kindnesses, his constancy, patience, care and warm friendship he had received from him over the years… and, a pang of remorse and pain for not having been able to accept and reciprocate in kind all that fiery passion, passion that was now laid to rest in the spacious, stalwart heart of Seiichiro Tatsumi.

As the three men observed, Oriya lowered himself to the ground once more, head bowed and hands joined in an attitude of prayer. Before long, Kazutaka Muraki folded himself close beside him, extracted two joss sticks from the packet that lay on the stones, lit them and placed them in the receptacle, where the two Oriya had lit earlier stood….

_To be continued _

* * *

_Notes:_

_Translations from Latin:_

_(1) Exaudi orationem meam - **Hear my prayer**_

_(2) Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus, cum vix justus sit securus? - **What shall a wretch like me say? Who shall intercede for me, when the just ones need mercy?**_

_(3) Ingemisco, tamquam reus, culpa rubet vultus meus - **I moan as one who is guilty, owning my shame with a red face**_

_(4) Preces meae non sunt dignae, cor contritum quasi cinis - **my prayers are unworthy, my contrition is like ashes**_

_Ulysees (Roman name of the Greek, Odysseus), hero of Homer's Odyssey: passing the island of the Sirens (sea-nymphs) who charmed mariners to leap into the sea, he secured himself to the mast of his ship to prevent himself from yielding to the spell of their singing._

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

Hello! to Sueona, Jollyolly, Princess Sin, Chazmy, Morality and Hickok. I really appreciate your encouragements and reviews. I hope you will continue to enjoy reading this story.

* * *

Love and darkness  
Part Sixteen 

Chapter One  
The heavy crown: sibling mercies

The cordial smile on the emperor's face faded after Enma's form dissipated and vanished. His fists came crashing down on the table, causing the cups upon it to leap into the air and break when they fell, the remainder of the tea they held pooling and spilling to the floor.

The figure of the prince royal loomed at the window, his eyes panning over fondly at the distant lands beyond the palace boundaries, lush foliage and grasslands dressed in streaks of greens and yellows, dazzling beneath the kissing rays of the seven suns. The gentle wind felt chilled against his face and neck, much too cold, and he shivered…

_Not the sultry breeze of the heavens this… is the chill portentous…? Kin and ancestors, all you who have merged with the elements of the realm, do you sense some great sorrow approaching…? I pray not… let it not be so…_

"Why are you silent, nii-sama? Why do you stand there sighing?"

His brother's voice was laced with acid, heralding the bitter storm of ire.

Eijisho Shimahara sighed and closed his eyes, preparing himself. Flicking a switch in his mind, he erected it: a sound and energy barrier that would absorb the ruckus that would ensue in this chamber – his brother's heartbreaking ravings.

O-Ran tore his hot eyes from the chair where Enma had sat, to seek out his brother's when Eiji turned to face him.

"What is it you want me to say, Omayuwa-Ran? Will my words quell the tempests in your heart?"

_I am useless to you… all I can do is stand here and watch you… scream silently while you tear yourself apart…_

All restraints on his frustration and fury snapping, the emperor leapt to his feet. His instantaneous movement towards his elder sibling, undetectable to the eye, gave rise to a small twister, the gusts of it toppling all the furniture in the room, whipping Eiji's hair and clothes about. Violent hands grabbed the front edges of Eiji's_haori_ as his sad eyes met the rage in sparking azure.

'This is all I can do… be the rock that will not erode from your lashing tidal waves…  
be the one you fall against when you crumble… be the arms that will hold you upright…'

"Tell me! What would you have done in my place?! Would you have given in to Isao's pleas, his tears, if he were your beloved child?! Answer me!"

Eijisho did not flinch, his body did not move nor yield to his brother's fists; he remained firmly rooted to where he stood. A mortal being would not have prevailed against the emperor's assault but would have been pulverized. He was a mountain, immovable, feeling no pain from the slamming fists, their impacts as ineffectual as the brushes of the gossamer wings of fireflies.

"Say something! Speak! Even if they are words of contempt! Berate me! Say it! Say it was entirely my fault! Say I am an unfit emperor…!"

The force of the emperor's pummeling fists increased. Disregarding the onset of pricks of pain shooting through his chest, Eiji kept his eyes trained on his brother's.

"Damn you… you… everyone loves you… Eijisho, not a care to weigh down your heart… my brother, the learned, charming prankster!"

He roared, aimed a vengeful punch on the place where his brother's heart lay, blinded by his angry tears and hurtful memories…

_I, a child, shackled to a throne… bored out of my wits, sitting with the bearing befitting a king… stifling yawns at endless ceremonies and receptions, suffering the ceaseless droning of the elders' and viziers' voices at governance assemblies… bound by duty, duty, duty… yearning to throw off that thing on my head and my uncomfortable vestments and gallop free, howl my head off, reclaim my childhood… burning with jealousy when I came upon you, Midori, Masato and Hatate, huddled together in a happy group, conspiring with secret plans to embark on a late night excursion – swimming in Akatsuki Lake… the four of you, breaking off your excited whispering when you saw me, to bow before your emperor… wanting to scream… I was so lonely… I wanted to be touched, embraced and kissed by all of you, like you used to do… I wanted to go with all of you…_

"I despise you…!"

A knee buckling from the jarring of his heart from O-Ran's cruel blow, Eiji bit his lip and straightened…

'… _listen, above and beyond his angry voice…'_

… … …

"_Where are you going, Eijisho?"_

"_To the Ibaragi plains, to see the Gourds…"_

"_Ah… the gourds… are you going alone?"_

"_No, Father. Masato Mikoto will take me there, on Toshimaru's back. He says the gourds have swelled to ripeness. We may even witness the birthing of some of Brother's enforcers… there's a red one that has grown huge… Masato says this gourd will give forth the enforcer that will lead the rest."_

"_Very well. Do not engage in any mischief, as you are prone to do…"_

"_I won't, Father."_

"_Be back in time for the evening meal with the family."_

"_Yes, Father."_

_Father grasped my arm as I turned, went down on one knee and held my shoulders._

"_Eijisho… in seven days, your younger brother will be enthroned. He is yet bewildered and cannot fully comprehend the enormity of the burden of being emperor… how can he? He is yet so young… at this moment, he is throwing a tantrum, wanting to be free from his confinement and the rigors of kingly instruction." Father heaved a great sigh. "You are glad, are you not?"_

"_Father…?"_

"_Glad it was not your name the Oracle's hand fell upon…"_

"_I…" I could not meet Father's eyes._

"_Don't be ashamed. I understand. I too… was glad… that Junko's hand bypassed my name."_

_I sighed in turn, with relief._

"_You will retain your freedom, and all the time to be carefree, without the constraints of being Emperor and all the responsibilities that come with wearing the crown. You will be able to do and pursue all you wish to… but, your brother…_

"_I have a request of you, my son Eijisho. Save a part of yourself for your brother. Let your heart become vast and strong… be his rock, the rock he can cleave to when it all becomes unbearable…"_

"_I will try, Father…" I bit my lip. "But… of late, his eyes have grown dark towards me…"_

"_Yes, I have seen them… they are the eyes of envy… forgive him…"_

"_I think he hates me… his words have become cold…"_

"_No… look behind his eyes… listen, over and beyond his angry voice… and you will find it, the love he feels for you… do this, for me and for your mother."_

"_I will, Father. I will be his rock…"_

_On the morning of O-Ran's coronation – the rays of the seven suns bathed the realm in gold; though not in season, zakura in the palace gardens had put forth their blossoms overnight – euphoria filled the heavens. _

_After he was dressed in his kingly vestments and regalia by the royal courtiers, O-Ran called for me, Mother and Father. He astounded us, not only with his blinding radiance, but also with his heartfelt apologies to us all for his belligerent behavior during the weeks preceding his enthronement. One by one, we were embraced tightly and kissed. _

_At the tender age of nine, he had seemingly come to terms with his circumstances._

_Led away from us by fussing courtiers, the three of us, so deeply moved, stared after him, at the boy whose childhood would become a thing of the past the instant the Oracle placed the crown of the emperor upon his youthful, silver head._

_Legions of deities, their families and vassals packed the immense courtyard beyond the throne hall, their excited clamoring swelling in anticipation of their first sighting of the newly-crowned boy-emperor._

_Standing on the balcony and waving, he captured the hearts of all with his shy, charming smiles. It was a child's voice that declared, "Greetings to you all. I am O-Ran the First, your new King. I will do my best, to serve you and to be a just ruler, worthy of wearing this crown…"_

_I was stunned, not only by his quiet grace and regality, but also by the fact that he had chosen the pet name that I had given him! With proud and happy, moist eyes, Mother and Father looked at me and beamed._

_The cheers of his surging subjects were deafening when he cast aside kingly decorum, much to the mortification of his aides and courtiers, and leapt from the palanquin that carried him into the courtyard, to plunge among them and grasp as many reaching hands as he could, happily accepting kisses and posies from ecstatic little girl-children._

_Outside the palace gates, contingents of his enforcers waited, these beings whose wombs had been the great gourds that had sprung from the ground the instant Junko brandished the scroll that bore his name, dotting the Ibaragi Plains of the north. Although they stood at stiff and solemn attention, their eagerness for their sovereign's arrival and inspection was palpable to all._

_The crowds roared again when O-Ran's delicate little hands took hold of Nagi's large ones, pulling his general to his feet after he dropped to one knee and swore his obeisance._

"_Come forth!" cried Nagi, lifting his head to the firmament, "honored beast that will bear the celestial emperor on your back!"_

_We heard the sound of rumbling thunder and the roar of crackling fire, and searched the skies, wondering with excitement what form this beast would take, and then we saw it and gasped. Bellowing and breathing out fire, it approached, a majestic white dragon, fearsome, its long body meandering as it descended. My brother was jumping up and down with glee until Nagi managed to calm him. Instinctively, the beast submissively sought out O-Ran, lowering its gigantic head at his feet, allowing him to touch and pet it as he declared its name to be Yukihime – indeed the beast was a female. Everyone was thrilled; many murmured approvingly that it was truly a favorable omen, for never before had a dragon carried an emperor or queen. Fearlessly, his eyes shining, my little brother climbed atop its neck with Nagi's assistance. Mother was fretting and yelling, "Omayuwa-Ran! Hold on tight, don't fall off!" Hatate was sighing and wistfully proclaiming how brave he was, while Masato snickered, nudged me in the ribs and teased his sister, receiving her head-butt in his ribs for his efforts. A hundred enforcers followed, with Nagi leading them as the dragon soared upwards to begin its journey through the entire realm, so everyone could see their emperor, the monarch they had long waited for…_

_For twenty celestial cycles, the throne had remained vacant, after the collapse of the Iwako dynasty, brought down, not by overthrow from rebellion, but by blind parental love…_

_O-Ran and I had been told of the events that took place before we were born, by Father…_

_When the dust finally settled in the aftermath of that debacle, the council of elders, faced by the Oracle's lassitude and consecutive refusals to choose a sovereign, they selected three among them to jointly rule the kingdom…_

_Until it finally came to pass: Junko Moriyama, Oracle and maker of monarchs for millennia, bi-gendered in personality and physical endowments, collapsed one evening while playing a game of charades. She – the feminine pronoun is used because her upper form has the appearance of a woman, although her voice is distinctly that of a man – was laid on her bed. There, she began her throes, writhing, convulsing, and moaning as if suffering labor pains, unmistakable signs indicating that she was in the first stage of her trance of choosing a sovereign. The elders and official witnesses were summoned, to wait and listen at her bedside. One by one, she shrieked forth names, an interval of days passing between each utterance…_

_Kikuya… Mikoto… Hitagawa… Shimahara… Sagami… Mukojima… Ueda…_

_After she cried out the last of the seven names of princely families, her body became still. Exhausted, she fell into deep slumber for three days. Upon waking, she was ravenous and consumed a great quantity of food._

_In her hall of divination, all the names of the members of each family, written on scrolls, were laid out in a circle. Several times, Junko stood within this circle, but did not slip into trance. A further ten days passed._

_From the moment the announcement of which families had been chosen until that momentous day, when Junko finally succumbed to deep trance within the circle of names, we waited with fluttering hearts. In her trance, Junko danced and spun like a dervish, while the three elders watched her closely. Each time she crouched to pass her hands over the scrolls, they and all the witnesses surged forward. Numerous times, it seemed as though she would divine who would sit on the throne, her hand hovering over one or another name, only to withdraw and resume her whirling dance…_

_We scarcely believed our eyes when we heard and saw them: the cacophony of drums, trumpets and tambourines, the riotous colors of the garments of dancing maidens, following in the wake of the musicians. Behind them, courtiers of the Oracle, four of them hefting a sedan chair in which sat Junko, wound their way down the hill toward our gates. A crowd of deities and their clansmen, intent on joining in the merriment, added to the din and excitement. The three elders who jointly ruled as interim regents fronted this joyful procession, two bearing banners that bore the Shimahara crests; the third held the official scroll, the words on which proclaimed my brother the emperor…_

… … …

The emperor was weeping and beginning to totter. The massive form before him put out its arms to draw him into its embrace, hands clasping his head and pressing it against its chest…

"I despise you… despise you…" he whispered, even as his arms reached around Eiji's neck, pulling down his leonine head, hands tangling in thick, yellow hair, desperate and hungry for comfort, nestling his face into the cradle between strong shoulder and neck. Exhausted, he felt the ebbing of his wrath and countless kisses placed on his face, heard his brother's tender murmurings, verbal ointments to his battered soul…

'How is it possible… for these arms, for these lips… to hold and kiss me with such love… after my hateful actions and words?'

'_Because I love you… ah, the heart of O-Ran is not capable of hate… you love me, you love us all, kin, subjects and mortals…'_

'_Yes… I adore you… as much as, if not more, than my beloved Isao adores you…'_

'_If it had been possible, I would have wrenched this crown from your head and placed it on mine, to spare you its burden…'_

'_Nii-sama…'_

Eiji looked fondly at the face, with all its melancholic beauty, the face of an emperor torn apart – by his love and by his sense of duty, an emperor ravaged by the constant onslaught of having to make cruel choices, of having to suppress his true desires – to bestow untold joy, casting aside his desire to uphold the tenets of a just king.

Prepared for and expecting his brother's swoon, he scooped up his limp form. Making his way down corridors lined by courtiers with bowed heads, he entered the bedchamber. With eye signals, he sent away the anxious royal attendants who had trailed him and tended to O-Ran on his own, placing swathes of cloth dipped in water infused with eucalyptus oil and crushed mint leaves to cool his burning brow.

Revived, O-Ran's trembling head sought his brother's lap, sighing from the touch of fingers combing though his hair.

'What did Isao ask of you?'

'He wanted me to command Nagi… to snatch them both, bring them here… such a simple, straightforward request when you think about it… it would be so easy… and yet I… he told me that the sound of Kazutaka's heartbeat has grown a lot stronger since a few days ago… this could mean that his immortal abilities may have strengthened…'

'Has Sanae said anything to you… concerning Oriya?'

O-Ran shook his head miserably, burrowed his face in the folds of Eiji's robes.

'No… she never speaks, has never spoken… about her child to me… not since that day… she confides only in Masato and Hatate… even when we learned from Masato that Oriya had been rescued by the Shinigami and was in their care, she did not come to me, did not make any request of me… I found her, suffering quietly, undertaking her duties stoically, and sent her to him with my amulet, a twin of this one…'

He fingered the shapeless object dangling from a chain around his neck.

Eiji sighed heavily.

'I wonder if Masato feels his child's heartbeat… he's never mentioned it to me…'

His brother's muffled moan disturbed Eiji.

'Ahh… that child… that one… is a deeply troubled youngster… with enough hurt in him to trigger a weapon of mass destruction…'

'Yet he appears so… adorably insouciant…'

'Yes, Enma has given me… what our associates in Hades call a "dossier" on him… he needs only to be pushed over the edge to let loose the powers he voluntarily sealed within himself, according to Enma… although sealed, small amounts of it tend to escape without his volition whenever Asato becomes upset, and Enma is troubled by the fact that his powers are untrained, uncontrollable… unlike Kazutaka's, from what I have heard. Untamed or not, they could prove just as deadly… dear great ancestors! Why has it all turned out like this…?'

'Shh, don't…'

'Fate… you capricious power, you cruel lord whom we cannot see nor touch… you rule over us all… twisting, twisting, just to torment me…'

'_Stop… don't…'_

'_What will you do, eh, Fate, if I shake my fist in your laughing face? One word from me and Nagi would… just like that, it would be done… just like that, I could restore happiness to Isao's face and heart… bring back Hatate's smiles… deaden once and for all, the ache in Sanae's… and Masato's… hearts… ah! And, what about all those others… earth and heaven born… mine, all mine… I let them go… how many of them are yet living? I turned my back on them… I am unfit…'_

'_No more, Omayuwa-Ran, no more… there is enough pain in you. If you release it, it will cover our world and the mortal Earth in darkness and ice… I will not sit by and watch you punish yourself further. Since that sorrowful time, everyone has come to understand and accept your actions, that your grief and sacrifices were no less than theirs, and that you are truly a just king. What was done was done… you contained it, halted the producing of more hybrids… the world of the mortals is theirs, theirs to manage, their lives theirs to control, without our misguided, albeit well-intentioned desires… our ideals are too simplistic, unsuited for their reality… the abundance of love which is inherent in our natures clouded our better judgment and led us astray. Alas, as our emperor, you had to do the dirty work and clean up after us… I remember what you said, after Father recounted the facts of the Iwako dynasty's downfall to us. You were seven, I was ten. He asked us what we would have done in Oshiro Iwako's place, what his mistakes were. I could not answer, remember? I have never forgotten the expression on your little face… solemn and wise… only seven years old, you calmly declared, "It is clear that the emperor's willful disregard of the Oracle's pronouncements was a grievous error. His love for his child consumed him, and compromised his judgment, ultimately undermining his kingly oaths." Father was quiet for a while, nodding grimly. But I could see how pleased and proud he was of you. You continued, "A difficult dilemma – to follow one's desires, driven by love, or to decide for the good of the whole realm and the world of the mortals. How unfortunate that Emperor Oshiro's blind love brought calamity." I was in awe of you then, as I am now, little brother. The day Junko chose you was not the day you became emperor… you were an emperor the moment you were conceived.'_

O-Ran sat up and flung himself against his rock.

'Remain with me, today and tonight… I don't want to be alone… let me hold fast to you… hold fast to me…'

'I will stay here with you until Hatate returns…'

'She will not return so soon… she will remain at Isao's side… the pining sickness has come upon him… go to him tomorrow, nii-sama. He will have need of your comfort…'

'I will, and will do what I can… lie back, rest… you are worn out from anguish… you are yourself, ill with pining…'

Lying beside his brother, Eiji drew his shaking body close.

When the shaking ends, the battle will come to an end as well… who will emerge triumphant? The father, husband, grandfather, brother-in-law, uncle, and loving emperor, or… the just king?

Holding on firmly to the fitful form, he was swallowed by a memory of the day O-Ran had in fact given in to his desires…

Because of mine…

… … … (Eiji's flashback begins)

The both of us, and Gintaro, consort of my sister Midori, at a feast of celebration… Hatate hovering and fussing at Midori's side, my newborn niece cradled in my sister's arms… the girl-child, Sanae, enthralling the empress. When Midori placed the infant in her arms, the empress was beside herself with joy…

O-Ran led me into the gardens…

"Do you recall the game we played, nii-sama, the day before I left for the palace, to begin my cloistering?"

Sunk in my own thoughts, I struggled to come out of them.

"Ah… let me see… we went cloud-leaping, didn't we? Hatate won that particular contest, didn't she, reaching Mount Korakyu first?"

O-Ran nodded. "Let's have a contest now, you and me. Will you indulge me?"

"O-of course…"

Floating down to the summit of Korakyu, where a grinning O-Ran stood, I yelled, "No fair! You cheated! You didn't even wait for an 'on you mark' signal…"

"Oh, pish! You could have effortlessly overtaken me. Your heart just wasn't in it, brother…"

I could not respond to his astute observation, but stood silently. He approached me, hugged me, laying his head on my shoulder.

"Who is it, Eijisho? Who has snagged your heart?"

"Wha-whatever do you mean?"

"No feigning." His face was much too serious for my liking. "Who is squeezing your heart? It is all too clear to me that you are under an enchantment… and are sick with love."

Yet tongue-tied, I pulled away.

"You leave me with no other choice. Since you will not tell me, brother to brother… I command you, as the emperor, to speak."

And thus, I told him, while he gazed at the winking stars.

When my stammered disclosures came to an end, he reached for me again, pulled me close, those blue eyes beginning to put forth water, and I was struck with shame, wrenched myself from his hold to quake. The utterance of my beloved's name to my brother had saturated me with a titanic desire for that mortal scholar I had fallen in love with. Truly, as my brother had discerned, I was crazed with love.

"There are so many among us who desire you… will none of them…?"

"No!"

"You want only this… mortal man?"

On my knees now, weak and gasping, a slave to my want. "Yes… yes… I want only him."

When I gained control of myself, I looked up to find myself alone. I interpreted my brother's sudden disappearance to mean he had abandoned me, and that I had fallen from his grace. Confused and dejected, I confined myself to my chambers and waited for him to summon me and pronounce his censure upon me.

Three days later, I stumbled from my divan where I had lain in lovesick torpor, to hurriedly dress when my attendant tapped on my door, announcing with urgency that the emperor was in my hall.

I prepared myself for the worst and bore the initial span of silence between us, not daring to speak. But no rebuke came from his mouth…

"Lift your head… look at me," he whispered.

When our eyes met, he said, "I am not angry with you. I am happy for you. Go to him. Court him and bring him to me. I will give him immortality."

From that night, when I confessed my enthrallment with a mortal being to O-Ran up to this instance, I had been so thoroughly selfish, bent on fulfilling my own needs, immersed in my longings.

After my brother's words sunk in to my brain, I became elated, like a child who had emerged the victor after bullying and coercing a loving parent with stamping feet, tears and wails. I began rapturously laying out plans in my mind – I pictured myself, arrayed in my finest raiment, appearing before Fumio, could almost feel him falling against me, into my arms, dazed from the smother of my kisses…

Into the line of my sight where only Fumio's face floated, stepped O-Ran's feet, encased in shoes of soft brocade cloth. Lifting my eyes, I saw his arms, spread wide…

"Receive my congratulatory kiss and embrace, nii-sama. Then, allow me to help you dress, as your groomsman."

It was then I looked at his face, really looked… only then did I fully grasp the suffering he had endured. The sight of his wan, tired face gave me a moment's respite from my lovesickness, cooling the fever it burned me with.

Before me was a king who had recently shared his anxiety with me, over Nagi's reports of romantic dalliances between deities and mortal beings. Distressed by the thought of having to summon the culprits and order them to sever these relationships, he had shuffled his feet, desisting, when in fact, these illicit liaisons were against the laws of our realm and O-Ran's enforcement of the corresponding punishments were within his kingly rights.

And there I was…!

And he, out of love for me, had given me his consent!

"You… would do this… for me?"

"I love you, and want only for you to be happy…"

The feeling of something breaking inside me… my heart seemed to struggle in its efforts to keep beating…

"No… I cannot let you…"

Breaking down, falling apart, gasping, for it was impossible to breathe… weeping, with shame and self-loathing… begging for his forgiveness which he gave me so generously, in a voice which was as wretched and broken as mine, sorrowing all the while, his heart breaking along with mine, because I could not consummate my love and turn all my dreams into reality… drowning in a sense of deep, deep loss… my brother's arms pulling me out of that dark place…

Thenceforth, Fumio Ikeda came to reside, not beside me, but inside my heart…

… … … (end of Eiji's flashback)

Finally, the emperor's body lay still… the tears streaming from glazed, cerulean eyes told Eiji that the Just King had won the battle.

'All our hopes ride upon your Shinigami now, King Enma of Hades…

'What will you do, child of Isao? Do you seek Oriya out of love? Have you come back to yourself, or are you still under the sway of that aberrant spawn, that fallen god of the Iwako bloodline?

'Will Hirose Iwako and his vengeful wrath swallow you both?

'Another skeleton in the closets of the gods… come back to haunt us…

'Precious princes of the Shimahara bloodline, please, don't resist and slip through Enma's net… Come closer, just a little closer to us…

'Fate, please… don't destroy our hearts for sport… please…'

In his arms, O-Ran stirred and whimpered like a child caught in the grip of a nightmare…

* * *

Chapter Two  
Face-off 

Gazing at the names on the pair of headstones, he lost himself in remembrances of them…

(Flashback begins)  
The swarthy, leathery complexion of a face, prematurely lined, tanned by the heat of the kilns in which his father fired his pottery…

Whenever I came home from school, I would seek him out, to be caught up in his arms and lifted… I loved the sound of his laughter…

I was sixteen then… that day, helping him stack a batch of pottery on the cooling racks…

At dinner that evening, he was unusually quiet. Smiling affectionately at Mother, he said he would retire for bed early…

'How tall you've grown,' he said, his hand reaching up to ruffle my hair, 'it is impossible for me to throw you up in the air now, musuko!' He laughed softly, his eyes distant, drawn into the nostalgia of the past. I remember thinking: how frail you look, dearest Father. He looked small enough for me to heft in my arms, the way he used to do to me, when I was little. I hugged him close. I had no idea then, how thankful I was to be later for having demonstrated that act of affection towards him.

He held on to me for support as we stepped into my parents' small bedroom. 'I would have liked to stroll down to the riverside with you tonight, but… I'm much too tired for that… sing me to sleep, musuko…'

I kissed his forehead after his eyes stopped watching me playing my koto and gave in to sleep.

Those eyes never opened again…

Falling asleep, waking… to the whirring and thudding sounds of the wheel and foot pedal of your sewing machine, while you labored ceaselessly with the dimming sight of one eye, your other completely lost to glaucoma…

I wanted to quit school to work full-time, but you wouldn't hear of it. For two more years, you toiled so I could finish high school, before you followed Father…

The day I was orphaned…

Finding you, so small and fragile, collapsed over the earthen vat made by Father's hands, cup still in your hand, rice grains spilled to the floor… your fingers, reaching up to wipe away my tears… 'Come closer, so that I may see your face…'

Long buried and forgotten by the torment of his love for Kazutaka, the memory of Okime Mibu's last words, spoken in her voice, rang out in his mind. In his young, grieving state, he hadn't considered them seriously then…

"Wondrous child who filled my life with so much joy… I thank her, she who honored Nakatsu and me… She knew… my time was near, and revealed her face to me in a dream last night… someday, you will see her and know the truth of who you are… she wanted me to tell you… you are the light that will burn… and guide the one you love back to the path of his destiny… by fulfilling this destiny, you will fulfill your own… your path will be hard, but you will endure… because your heart is a sword and shield, forged for him, he who will be called by many names…"

(Flashback ends)

Okime's voice faded, to the sounds of footfalls, and the beating of a heart; these were deafening, as though harbingers of the approach of a creature of gargantuan proportions. Slowly he turned his head, and saw him, not a giant, but a man, a man who shone like a small sun, distorting the landscape behind and around him, slowed the wheels of time. His footfalls matched the cadence of the thundering thuds.

'A mirage, an oasis to my thirsting heart… you, who bound my heart with your chains…'

The form seemed far away, but Oriya Mibu's eyes locked on to the heart-stopping visage; his beauty was frightening, otherworldly, inducing shivers in Oriya's body as he rose to his feet unsteadily.

As soon as he straightened, Kazutaka was right there, in front of him. He stared in amazement at the face that no longer bore the mark of a murderer. The scar tissue around the cavity that had held that oversized glass eye was smoothened to perfection. Spellbound, he began counting the fine, flaxen eyelashes around the newborn eye.

'What are you… who are you…? Why do I feel… this need to fall at your feet and swear my allegiance…? Ah, Yutaka… I'm so sorry… I love you… but this man before me now owns my heart… forgive me, Yutaka… Are your thoughts tinged with hurt and anger as you watch me?'

When he focused on silver eyes heavy with shame and sorrow, glimmering with tears, Oriya turned away, unable to bear the remembrances those eyes brought, and sat back down on the heels of his boots. Numbly, he continued placing his offerings, floral tributes at the foot of the headstones, his sight shifting to the hand placing a joss stick in the urn…

Kazutaka Muraki stared at the white hands resting on Oriya's lap and remembered…

'Those hands had cut these headstones, smoothened them… carved their names upon them… twice, they had been blistered and cut… he would not let me help him… only after he finished his tasks, did he consent to let me treat the wounds on his hands…'

Impulsively, he moved his hand, fingers pushing aside the hair shielding Oriya's face, letting the sheaf of dark silken threads fall behind his shoulder, so he could see the profile of this man, the wholesome son, the adored son of the man and woman whose remains lay in the earth beneath the headstones.

When he realized what he had done, he withdrew his hand from the curve of Oriya's shoulder, ashamed…

'The good son, the good man… tarnished by me, by the sin that is me…  
You could have… should have… flinched… pulled away from my touch! You shame me, Orimi… How can I even begin to express my regret…? I dragged you along, used your love for me… led you astray… how can you ever forgive me…?'

The instant Kazutaka's fingers touched him, the amulet Oriya wore took on a warmth, heating the skin on his chest, caressing it, making it zing, like it was a living thing that possessed minute stroking fingers. His inner vision opened; through a doorway, he saw light, impossibly brilliant. If he had been looking at it directly, surely he would be struck blind, he thought. He caught a glimpse of buttery yellow hair and limpid green eyes, eyes that made him want to weep, not with sadness, but with joy. That face seemed so close to him, nostalgic and heartwarming, but the quivering, down-turned mouth broke his heart. He felt he was being cuddled and kissed, his body being infused with love. He heard a rush of whispers…

"Precious princes… come closer… fate… don't destroy our hearts for sport… long, too long have you been gone from the land of your birth, child of Sanae… beautiful little cherub who chirruped and smiled in my arms… come home… bring your beloved with you… many are the arms that ache to embrace you both, many are the lips that long to kiss you…"

Oriya's heart pounded, pumping his blood with ferocity, sending it gushing along the network of arteries in his body. This quickening dulled the excruciating craving for the effects of the dark, sticky sap of poppy seeds, and he marveled at this phenomenon. Slowly, he turned his head to face the man beside him and pinned pained, pale eyes…

* * *

O-Ran started, and sat up in his bed, alarming his brother. Eiji hands cupped the emperor's face and saw the glaze of blue eyes staring off into space, looking at something or someone that only those eyes could see. 

"What is it, O-Ran?"

"I-I… can see him… Kazutaka… they have come together…!"

* * *

A voice caressed his mind, wrapped Kazutaka's heart… 

'You did not drag me… I followed you willingly… it was my choice to make… there is nothing to forgive…'

'But… I…'

'That part of you no longer exists… you remembered, Kazu, that every year on this day, I would come here… you would come with me, to remember them…'

'Yes… I loved them too… they were very good to me… apart from the proximity of… her… your home was the only other place where I felt I was loved…'

The dark head leaned closer to the silver one. Their foreheads touched, and they shut everything and everyone out of their little piece of heaven, this moment in time that was theirs and theirs alone, cherishing every second of it before it was encroached upon and disturbed by the ones who they knew were watching and waiting…

'You called me "Orimi"… like you used to, before you slipped away and hid yourself in darkness… you clawed your way out of the shroud of darkness… you've come home, at last…'

'Yes… I found my way home… to the light that never dimmed… the light that is you…'

The breath of Oriya's sigh caressed Kazutaka's face, warm and sweet, reminiscent of their shared past, identical to the breaths of contentment and passion, issued with tender words and kisses… evocative, of naked, heated skin and embracing arms, gasping breaths, urgent and fevered… of their intimacies during which the boundaries of their bodies melted away, leaving them merged, welded together, a two headed, eight-limbed creature that shared a single heart…

'No-one had the right to split us apart…'

He moved his mouth to Oriya's ear, sighing into it, empowering his breath with the intensity of thousands of kisses and caresses…

* * *

He wanted to tear his eyes from them, from the sight of their intimate propinquity, but Yutaka Watari continued to engage in self-torture by staring at him, at that man who had left his indelible mark on him, branded upon his skin, upon his heart and into the flesh within his body, a place inside of himself that even now still felt the fullness and sensations of having received that thing, that thing that was now concealed between Oriya's legs, that extension of his body, that elongated symbol of his gender. Angrily and irreverently, he wondered if it was growing hard and dripping. He tasted it, that sweet and salty essence of excitement on his tongue. 

With hurt and covetous eyes, he noted every nuance, every slight shift of that willowy body responding to the overtures of that man, currently the bane of Watari's existence – Oriya's companion, the ex-lover, the man who was now on the threshold of reclaiming his place in Oriya's life, and, that body. He swallowed the excessive saliva in his mouth and licked his lips when he pinpointed the sweep of an elegant neck as that head lolled with his jealous eyes.

He detested feeling it, but could not stand against it – that dark and dangerous emotion named Jealousy, and before he knew it, he was overrun by it.

When Oriya's lips parted and his eyes closed, in pleasure, obviously, by the nuzzling mouth at his ear, the blond Shinigami was a thoroughly broken man…

He struggled, battled for calm and a clear head, resisting the creeping, insidious takeover by his self-destructive alter ego, but… old patterns are hard to break in the face of despair… before he could stop himself, he sneered mentally, his face twisted into a mask, a time-honored expression of a lover spurned.

'So, this is what you meant when you said 'I love you' over and over… that night, a night I'll never ever forget unless I undergo hypnosis to induce amnesia… I guess you felt sorry for me or suddenly had an attack of a guilty conscience and felt you needed to disguise and candy coat a plain and simple romp… a casual fuck with a fool…'

Although he had no way of knowing it then, that all-encompassing pain that numbed him from scalp to toe at that very moment, a pain he had never before felt, was not the worst kind of pain one could experience…

He would only discover this some time later, when a far worse agony, lethal in that it threatened his very life… when all his bitter and unkind thoughts toward Oriya Mibu would return to plague him… and drive him to the brink of insanity…

But right then, as he stood and watched with lips tightly pressed together, jaw trembling, Yutaka Watari was simply a man who was reacting quite normally to being jilted. Petulantly, irrelevantly and masochistically, he rummaged for the modern term for what had been done to him in a brain addled by his heartbreak and found it: 'dumped'. His indignation gave way to shock. Only his dedication to his job prevented him from fleeing the scene, and so he stood there, feeling all of the insecurities, insignificance, naïveté and worthlessness of someone who has been thrown over.

More than two hundred years had passed before he had allowed himself to feel love again, dared to hope, and act upon his love. He had made his decision as he stared at the sleeping face of Oriya Mibu just before the sun rose that morning after their single night of passion together, a dawn which had been the most splendid one in all of Watari's existence, both before and after his death – he had vowed to fill the void in that man's heart, for as long as he needed him to… and he had silently prayed as he kissed those lovely lips that he would be allowed to love him for a very long time, for as long as he lived… he wanted to be with him to the very end, right beside him all the way as he grew old and frail… and when it was time for him to leave this world, he would hold him close and whisper words of love into his ear… and when his spirit separated from his body, he would be the one to embrace him and carry him to Meifu…

' 'For as long as you needed me to…'  
Did I jinx it with that?  
Sorry I can't say, 'Congratulations, you've got him back, way to go, I wish you well, Oriya.' Guess I'm not as noble and selfless as I thought I was after all…  
In the end, I'm only human… and I get angry and hurt like your average human…  
However gullible I may have been, and even though it doesn't mean a whit to you,  
I love you, Oriya…'

Asato Tsuzuki, his hand still clamped around Seiichiro's arm, felt the tremor vibrating through the secretary's body, saw him close his eyes and lower his head…

Tatsumi withdrew his mind from his shadow net. Through his link with it, he had heard the silent communication of the re-united lovers he and his Shinigami spied upon. Intending to decipher Muraki's state of mind, he had willfully eavesdropped, and now he was ashamed, his shame shunting aside his confirmation of Muraki's and Mibu's more-than-mortal status, their telepathic conversation being a further attestation to him…

'This isn't right. We should not even be here, encroaching upon their reunion, a reunion long overdue… we're not even allowing them any privacy… I should call this operation off, but… how can I disobey a direct order from my king? I… I must obey… it's probably best to bring them to our realm… we can protect them from that demon… at least there, they can be together, until it is destroyed… perhaps if I explain it to them, that they won't be harmed, they just might consent to come with us…'

'Why are you dawdling, shadow master? Get on with it! I haven't got all day!'

Jarred by the sharp intrusion into his thoughts, Tatsumi jerked his head upright, his lips thinning with outrage.

'Urasawa?! How dare you get into my head?! I don't take orders from you!'

'Whatever. You're wasting time, just begin already…'

'Shut up and back off!'

The secretary chose to ignore Urasawa's contemptuous sneer and bristled with anger, regrouping himself as he saw the two by the twin graves rise and embrace…

* * *

'Kazu… the Shinigami… they're here…' 

'I know…'

'They won't let us go…'

'You've decided then? That you'll come with me?'

'Yes.'

'Just leave everything to me…'

'Don't hurt them…'

'I won't… trust me… whatever happens, I need you to trust me…'

'I will.'

* * *

The sudden impinging of a very familiar voice in his head made Tatsumi freeze. 

'What are you waiting for, Tatsumi-san? Let the games begin. Catch us if you can.'

Tatsumi uttered an expletive. Muraki caught Mibu's hand in his and they both bolted with lightning speed, sprinting away from the graves. Crossing the footpath, they darted among the trees and sped towards the open field beyond, both men's long legs covering the distance with fleet steps.

Tsuzuki roared, "Do it now, Seiichi!" Tatsumi's shadowy tongues shot out from the ground, bore down on the escapees, surrounding and closing in on the pair.

Tatsumi's group gave frantic chase. Tsuzuki, in the lead, sensed the sheer force of the shadow master's vortex, reinforced with something else. As he ran towards it, gazing at the cone of leaping dark shapes rising high in the air, he felt a heaviness creeping into his limbs and a reduction in his concentration and at once turned his eyes away from the dark shapes, realizing the secretary had added an extra punch to his shadow trap – a Tatsumi Special, his version of a muscle relaxant and sedative rolled into one – and was giving it everything he had. He was impressed and approved wholeheartedly – the two captives would be rendered weaker, he hoped desperately, but would not suffer serious, permanent harm. He swung his head around, searching for Watari and found him, pelting along at full tilt close on his left and hissed, "Don't look at the shadows, Taka! They'll knock you out!" The blond responded with a quick nod of his head. Their anxious eyes attempted to pick out the two figures in the midst of Tatsumi's snare and saw them.

Mibu had faltered, from the effects of Tatsumi's tranquilizer cocktail, Tsuzuki conjectured, and was on his knees. Muraki's face was colored and warped with pure fury while he helped a sluggish Oriya to his feet.

Watari's blood curdled when he heard Oriya's cries of "No! Please, don't!" and saw the man he loved cast himself against his erstwhile lover.

Tatsumi, amidst Tsuzuki's desperate shouts of "Go, go!" came to a halt outside the ring of dark shapeless forms, pleased and somewhat disbelieving that he had managed to confine Muraki thus far and was about spirit his shadow and its captives to Meifu when Muraki's voice rang out.

"Stand down, shadow master, and no-one will get hurt!"

The sound of a single 'click' seemed as loud as a thunderclap to the three Shinigami, gaping in horror at Muraki, holding a gun, its muzzle pressed against Oriya's temple. The doctor had his other arm locked around Oriya's neck; the pinned man appeared unresisting, his arms hung limply at his sides.

"Call off your shadow, secretary, or Oriya gets it, on the count of three."

To be continued...

* * *

Notes:  
Haori – a loose, knee-length, Japanese garment, resembling a coat  
Nii-sama – Japanese, respectful term for 'elder brother'  
Musuko – Japanese for 'son' 

More drama to come in the next installment. I'll work as fast as I can. This part would have been posted sooner, but my editing changes just wouldn't get saved by the system and that was really exasperating so I gave up after attempting several times – what a complete waste of my time, especially when one is losing precious sleep time to post a new chapter! What a downer! I wonder if any of you have experienced the same thing? Finally, after dozens of attempts I gave up, hence a rather sloppy part, in terms of layout and font (I'm irritated!) - you'll just have to figure out which lines are thoughts, I had to insert things like flashback indicators, it messes up the flow of things, I'm sooooooo mad, and if this keeps happening, I'm thinking this really isn't a nice place to post one's stories, in terms of the system glitches. Editing should not be a torture and changes should be saved after just ONE go!! Well, enough of my ranting, thanks for listening.  
TGO


	17. Chapter 17

**_Love and darkness_**  
_**Part 17  
Fallout of an obsession**_

Asato Tsuzuki downed his second cup of coffee. His hand shook when he placed the empty cup on the saucer...

He had retreated to the cafeteria in Sweeper headquarters for some badly needed alone time to mull over his unhappy thoughts. After refilling his cup at the self-service stand, he ambled back to his table, relieved that he had the place pretty much to himself. Except for the service staff behind the food counters, no sweepers or other employees were present. He sipped from his cup and assumed a sprawl on his chair, stretching his legs and tilting his head back, the taste of weak coffee on his tongue, wishing he could nip out to the nearest bar and drown his frustration and misery with the aid of numerous glasses of Margueritas, to the point of being blissfully drunk, so that scenes of the operation of that morning would mercifully stop replaying over and over in his mind…

_Tatsumi froze, staring with incredulity, and then dismay, at Muraki…_

_While Tsuzuki forgot to breathe, Watari lost it and roared; he charged ahead and leapt into the circle of shadows, landing on one knee in front of captor and hostage._

"_Two." _

"_Call it off, Seiichi!"_

_A collected Muraki completely ignored the blond man, his eyes remaining fixed on an open-mouthed Tatsumi, his lips quirked in a charming smile, a glint in his eyes. "You'd best heed his suggestion, Tatsumi-san. After all, you wouldn't want him spattered with Oriya's blood when I blow his head off, now would you?"_

_His heart pounding crazily, Tsuzuki experienced a sense of déjà vu__ remembering his vision of Watari beneath a crucified Oriya… _

_The doctor's challenging taunt seemed to settle it for Tatsumi. At once, his shadow vortex fell away and vanished. Standing beside the heavily panting, seething secretary, a cold rage consumed Tsuzuki, directed at no one but himself, feeling utterly inadequate, cursing silently and suppressing his urge to launch himself at a smirking Muraki, unwilling to risk the loss of Oriya's life. He moved slowly towards him, holding out his hand…_

"_Give me the gun, Muraki… you can't seriously mean to shoot Oriya… please, give it to me… ngoof! What the…!"_

_The Shinigami's earnest attempt at negotiating was cut short when he felt himself being pushed by something, or someone. Losing his balance, he fell over sideways to the ground, hearing a noise… what sounded to him like the crack of a whip…_

_Muraki's gun was snatched from his grip and appeared to fly, zipping through the air. When it stopped in mid-air and disappeared, Oriya suddenly yelped. He was thrown backwards, his legs seemed to have been pulled out from under, his hands flew to his neck, scrabbling at something the Shinigami could not see at that point._

_Tsuzuki scrambled to his feet, saw Watari lurch and fall over, the same way the former had been shoved aside. Oriya's body slid along the ground, dragged away from Muraki, who was next to go down. He made no sound when he fell headlong. Except for the rising and falling of his back, he lay still…_

_Fresh shock gripped Tatsumi and his men. Watari sprung to his feet and rushed over to Oriya, who was gasping for air…_

_Tsuzuki, hearing the strained, wheezing sounds of the prone men's breathing, sensed something snapping in his psyche; his self-control had begun to unravel at that juncture… _

_He broke free from Tatsumi's restraining grip and dashed to Muraki, his angry shriek piercing the air. He didn't make it to the doctor's side – once more, he fell, face hitting the ground, his lower legs caught and held two feet above ground._

"_Get your men away from here, Tatsumi!"_

_They were visible now: the three specials, their weapons, and, the reason for Tsuzuki's ungainly tumble._

_Muttering curses, the Shinigami picked himself up, glaring at the special closest to him, whom he intuitively assumed was Urasawa, the one who had shoved him; the man had such a commanding presence about him, overly slender and unexpectedly young, with short and neat dark auburn hair and steely gray eyes._

_The specials commander held the grips of two whips, one in each hand, the cords of which were thin rather than thick; one of these, the end of which was now secured around Muraki's ankles, had tripped up Tsuzuki when he had charged towards the fallen doctor. The end of Urasawa's other whip was wound around Muraki's neck…_

_Watari, his mouth twisted ferociously, brought up his fisted hands, shouting at the heavy-set, tall special whose whips had caught Oriya._

"_Can't you see he's choking, you bastard?"_

_The man's eyes flickered to his commander's as if the latter had called him. At once, the tall special flicked his wrist. The lash around Oriya's neck loosened without unraveling. _

_Kneeling beside the coughing captive, Watari cupped his face in his hands, whispering, "We did not want this to happen… these others, and what they've done… Oriya, come with me, please… we only want for you to be safe… come with me," he implored, while his eyes stayed fixed on Oriya's. But the eyes in that flushed face would not look at him. The world and everything in it seemed to fall away; the fair-haired reaper felt and saw nothing but an empty void close around him as he heard that beloved voice…_

"_Can't do that… my place is by his side… let me go, Yutaka… I'm so sorry… please… forgive me… get away from here, now… all of you… all hell's about to break loose… go, now…"_

_Straining to turn his head, Oriya's eyes locked on to Muraki's, and the blond Shinigami by his side saw the appeal in those beautiful eyes…_

_When they had joined themselves together, lain together, within those eyes, he had glimpsed a shared future, a promise, of bountiful love, given and received, enough for one lifetime – Oriya's lifetime in this world – and more, much more. But now, the eyes of this man, this very man who had groaned with pleasure when a part of his body had given him so much of the same, had nothing to give him any more. Now, everything in those eyes belonged only to Kazutaka Muraki…_

_Meanwhile at Muraki's side, Tsuzuki pleaded with the doctor._

"_I'm sorry for all this, Muraki. I'm on your side, trust me, please. Let me help you. Come with us, both of you. Once we destroy that demon, you'll be free."_

_He saw Muraki's eyes roll to meet his gaze, heard his deep sigh, his cheerless chuckle._

"_Wish it were all that simple…" The silver eyes, blooming with a pearly sheen, were filled with a sorrow that pierced the Shinigami's heart. "It almost seems satirical… hearing you apologize… but I know you mean it… in all the time I've known you, you've always been nothing but dead serious in everything you do and say… I should be the one to say sorry… how incongruous, how can mere words make a difference… make up for all… I'm sorry, for what I did to you… and to that boy, your young partner… tell him for me…"_

_Listening to the broken voice, a sickening suspicion of the doctor's intentions made the Shinigami gasp, mingling with his vision of the black cross, and his memories of his own despair, the black, crushing despair of a sinner, a sinner who fixated on only one goal… _

"_Don't you dare, Muraki! Tell him yourself, in person! You owe him that much, at least…"_

"_Wish I could turn back time… wish I had… thank you for your efforts, Asato Tsuzuki… it's too late for me…"_

"_No! It's not! What… do you intend to do? Why must you drag Oriya…?"_

"_You, and that one, the one who loves Oriya… and Tatsumi… you should all get as far away from here as possible…"_

_His panic rising, the Shinigami followed the doctor's shifting gaze to Oriya's imploring eyes and caught his silent reassurance: 'I won't hurt them, my love.'_

"_Muraki! Don't…!"_

"_Go! Get away from here!"_

The cup in Tsuzuki's squeezing grip finally shattered, fragmenting along with all his hopes, the ache in his heart intensifying while he visualized what happened next…

_The third special, advancing with a bundle of what appeared to be netting, which he cast open, spreading it like a fishing net…_

_Urasawa, yelling again, "Out of my way, Shinigami! And you over there," he spat, swinging his head to Watari, "move away from him! Damn you, Tatsumi! Can't you keep your men in line? They're in my way!"_

_The irate commander yanked on his whips. The flimsiness of their thin thongs were deceptive, as they dragged Muraki towards the spread net, Urasawa's subordinate doing the same, pulling Oriya…_

_Watari, a blur of flying overcoat and golden hair, a wild, snarling beast racing towards the burly special…_

_Tatsumi, a man torn between his rage at the specials' actions and his obligation to obey Enma's orders, hurtling past Tsuzuki and launching himself at Watari, both men toppling over to land in a heap on the ground, the blond expressing his sentiments at being thwarted in his efforts to pulverize the special with a string of expletives…_

The sharp edge of a shard of the destroyed coffee cup cut into Tsuzuki's palm, drawing blood. He shook, ignoring the pain, drove the piece of porcelain deeper into his hand, shame and horror nauseating him at what he had almost done…

_Willfully, he had released it… his sealed weapon… a nameless, formless instrument of death…_

_Turning his eyes, huge with malice, on Urasawa…_

_There, in that field of damp grass around which lay the silent bones and ashes of the dead, he had become, once more, a killing machine…_

_He was gathering it, that power within him, into invisible arrows that would shoot forth from the bow, which was his body…_

Tsuzuki opened his hand and brought it, wet with his blood and coffee, to his face. Covering his mouth, he wept quietly, loath to drawing the attention of the canteen's staff, all of which had cast apprehensive glances at him when he'd crushed his cup.

_Seiichiro's voice, breaking through the roar of a monster, his own unrecognizable cry…_

"_Stop, Sato! Don't do it!"_

_Coming back to himself, being caught in Tatsumi's arms, sucking his deadly power back into himself…_

_The secretary had thrown himself into the path of the first wave of his assault, taking it head on…_

_Tatsumi's whispered pleas… "Bear up, Sato… it will all be over soon…"_

He would only learn later, of Tatsumi's injuries…

Notwithstanding his superior Shinigami physiology, had the man not used his shadow as a shield before charging at him, those injuries would have been far more horrific… and fatal…

_If you hadn't been there, aniki… oh great gods… I would have killed Urasawa… the other two would not have been spared… they would have been cut down for certain… Muraki and Oriya might have been destroyed as well, caught in my monstrous maelstrom…_

His mind's eye fed him a gory onslaught of pictures, of people, young and old, lying on the ground, blood gurgling from their mouths, noses, eyes, ears…

_How had a monster like me come into being?_

The only thing keeping him from bolting from the place to seek out an abandoned building, perhaps a warehouse, summon Touda, order his Shikigami toassume his deadly serpent form and finish him off in an inferno of flames, was his promise to himself to save a man called Kazutaka Muraki. His conviction to his promise bore credence to the extent with which he loved that man, that man whose broken whispers, desolate eyes, fingers pulling on blades of grass, the despair seeping from that prone body to soak into the Shinigami's skin, had reminded him of himself… as he had been upon coming to awareness in Meifu… the horror he had experienced at learning that there really was such a thing as an afterlife… his dismay turning to rage… rage becoming self-revulsion, upon discovering he was still capable of killing at his will…

… … …

"_Seal this place off! From now on, no one is allowed in there! Someone send a message to Lord Enma at once… tell him what's happened here…"_

"_D-do you s-suppose he's a… d-demon, sir?"_

"_Pull yourself together man, and help me with Sawano!"_

"_I-is he… d-dead, sir?"_

"_He will be if you don't snap out of it and help me with this tourniquet! Gods! I warned you lot not to try and touch him…"_

… … …

Hiding his distress well, Tsuzuki paid and apologized for the broken cup, and bowed to the cashier, his face a far cry from what it had been in the cemetery that morning…

_Watari's attention was drawn to his comrades after Tsuzuki's loss of control. He joined them, eyeing him anxiously…_

In the men's room, Tsuzuki washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. Looking into the mirror above the washstand, he saw Urasawa's gaunt face, his eyes glinting with determination…

_The commander continued to pull on his whips, dragging his captive closer to the spread net. Oriya was already positioned on it…_

Tsuzuki would later learn from Konoe that the net and whips employed by the specials were empowered with arcane spells, said to be impenetrable, and were effective in subduing mortals who were possessed by malevolent spirits or demons and rendered unnaturally strong by these parasitical entities, before exorcisms could be performed.

_The indignity of Muraki's and Oriya's capture filled the three helpless onlookers with deep contempt, Tatsumi vowing to lodge a formal protest to Lord Enma, while his partners glowered and hatched their own plots of revenge, involving their fists and the specials' jaws, intending to put them out of commission for at least a week…_

_In unison, the whip-handlers manipulated their whips, releasing the two men from their snake-like grips. Instantly, the net began wrapping around the pair. As though it were a living thing, it swiftly plastered itself tightly around them._

_Amazingly, Muraki did not put up any resistance to this humiliation. Just before he and Oriya were shrouded and obscured by the net, both men strained to move their heads – the potency of the whips and net appeared to have sapped their strength – their eyes searching for each other's…_

_All six Shinigami, regulars and specials, were lulled into a sense of complacency, assuming Muraki was completely subdued…_

Pulling paper towels from the dispenser, Tsuzuki sighed.

_The proverbial lull before the storm…_

_Positioned around the bundle containing its prisoners, the lips of the specials moved as they silently chanted incantations…_

_Birds, hardy creatures that had not yet flown off for warmer climes and which had been twittering in the trees, suddenly took flight in panicked flocks, as though spooked…_

_To the three who observed the specials with trepidation, it seemed as though a black shroud had obscured the sun…_

Awe mingled with terror as the Shinigami left the washroom, recalling what happened next…

_To their credit, the specials remained calm, undaunted by the thick, encroaching darkness – day had suddenly become night. They raised their voices, challenging the hair-raising cry that grew steadily louder, completing their incantations. They drew close to the netted pair. Something halted them as they crouched to heft their captives…_

_They covered their ears with their hands, Tsuzuki and his partners following suit, to block out the by now ear-splitting cry, as they were all pushed back, some lifting off their feet, away from the two in the net, by powerful gusts of air…_

_The ground beneath the feet of all six men turned into the huge back of a maddened, bucking bronco. Unable to see a thing, they were knocked off their feet and left to roll upon the earth helplessly as it shuddered, yawned and bucked…_

_Someone rolled on top of Tsuzuki. Long hair whipping his face, he identified this person as Watari. He held on to him, felt the Shinigami's arms lock around him, heard him sobbing desolately…_

_They both clung desperately to each other, while they were thrown about. Beneath that terrible sound, the awesome fury of a voice he knew well, he heard Tatsumi's panicked cries, calling to him and Watari, his voice fighting with the terrible roar to be heard…_

Gratitude welled in the Shinigami's heart as he whispered his name and awarded that priceless man a place in his heart for all time…

_Seiichiro Tatsumi… you must have been in indescribable pain from your injuries… but all you cared about was our safety…  
_

_Watari had fallen silent, his body was limp against him, but Tsuzuki felt his heartbeat against his chest and calmed. Tenaciously, he held on to him, tossed like a rag doll by the roiling waves made of earth, listening to those voices; one belonged to the man who loved him, the other to the one he loved… a bizarre lullaby, singing him to sleep, while a cradle made of grass-covered earth rocked him…_

_It was well past noon when he came to; feeling gentle pats on his cheeks, he slowly became aware of worried, sapphire-hued eyes close to him. Tatsumi breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him…_

_Sitting up, he cast his eyes about wildly. "Taka…?"_

"_He's here…"_

"_I'm okay, Sato." The blond was behind him, resting his cheek on his knee, one visible eye staring daggers at the trio of men who stood apart from them, conversing in hushed voices._

_Tsuzuki saw Masaru Urasawa shrug and turn his haughty face to him. The commander sniffed and jerked his head at the place where Muraki and Mibu had lain, bundled like animals bound for slaughter…_

_All that remained were shredded remnants of the net…_

"_Clear all that up, men. No point looking for them. They're long gone. Well, that's that. We're out of here," announced Urasawa, dusting grass off his clothes._

"_Oh yes please, do get out of my sight as soon as you can, before I rip you to shreds like that net of yours," Tsuzuki threatened, bunching his hands into fists._

_Ignoring him, the specials captain pulled out a revolver from a pocket of his black leather jacket and calmly proceeded to check its barrel. His inspection completed, he grunted dismissively, tossing the gun to Tatsumi._

"_It's not loaded. I can't believe you fell for that trick, Shadow Master." Smirking with self-importance, he signaled to his men. "Let's go."_

_Undone by the sight of that arrogant face, Tsuzuki was up in a flash, a feral creature out for blood. His face distorted with rage, he grabbed the front of Urasawa's polo neck top and smashed his fist against the man's face repeatedly, cueing Watari, who lunged for the special who had lassoed Oriya, freeing his fury with roars, his moving fist blurred as it barreled into his victim. After recovering from their initial shock, the two men set upon did not resign themselves to their fate, but rallied and fought back, blow for blow…_

The wound on his right palm had already closed, but he still felt the tingling in his knuckles as he flexed his fingers, a sensation that gave him great satisfaction and no grief at all, even when he reflected on the irony of his vengeful actions – he had been dead set against any violence shown towards Muraki and Mibu, but had lashed out the captain to the point of breaking his nose and splitting his lips. He quashed the voice of his conscience and shrugged flippantly.

"All's fair in love and war… or something like that… who cares," he muttered.

Gloomily, the Shinigami strode along the corridors of sweeper headquarters, oblivious to the stares of interest cast his way by staff members.

He slowed his steps when his heart constricted, remembering that face, those broken whispers…

"… _wish I had… wish I hadn't…"_

_Where are you? Where are you hiding? Don't hide from me… I want to see you again… even if you'll never love me back…_

Lost in his longings, he did not hear the rapid steps of feet behind him, attempting to catch up with him, nor did he feel the soft brush of a hand on his shoulder…

"Hey… you okay? How are you holding up?"

He looked up, into blue eyes full of worry, felt his heart lift from the sound of that voice, thickened with warmth…

_Seiichi… always… always there for me… never a care for yourself… how can you smile at me like that… after what I did to you…?_

"I should be asking you that. How are _you_ feeling?"

"I'll be fine, Sato."

Tatsumi recognized the expression in those purple crystals and brought his hand up, resting it on the beloved cheek, choosing to employ gentle touches instead of words to reassure the Shinigami, convince him he wasn't mad at him.

"I'll take all three of them on again single-handedly, for you, if you want me to, just to prove to you I'm perfectly fine," he said softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Their guffaws filled the hallway, Tatsumi struggling to stop, wincing and bending slightly, holding his chest.

"Seii- "

The secretary waved away Tsuzuki's anxiety, his laughter eventually fading, soft and sweet rippling sounds in the Shinigami's ears, and all of a sudden, he found himself hungry for the feel of that hand on his face again…

He flashed a grin, lifted his curled hand and swung it, gently cuffing Tatsumi's face in a mock punch, brushing his cheek with his knuckles, scenes of the shadow master's spectacular hand-to-hand combat skills parading through his mind…

_The stunned third special, gawping at the two brawling pairs, shouting "Taicho! Taicho…!" Wringing his hands when his captain buckled to his knees after a final, punishing clout from his assailant, a wild-eyed Tsuzuki…_

_The unsuspecting spectator whipped his head round at a menacing growl coming from behind him…_

_Not to be denied his share of the pickings, Tatsumi, sans his glasses, yet another pair shattered, during the double-whammy of gale-force winds and temblor unleashed, courtesy of Doctor Kazutaka Muraki, dropped-kicked the unfortunate man._

_In a rare instance of complete loss of self-control, the secretary, paying no mind to the pain from several broken ribs sustained during his feat of using his body as a shield against Tsuzuki's raw, deadly powers, did not pause there. He hauled the man to his feet and ploughed punches into him. Nimbly ducking and sidestepping retaliating swinging fists, Tatsumi finished his assault with another soaring kick, his boot connecting with the net-man's jaw. The special teetered and fell backwards, out cold._

_Watari, for his part, fared extremely well in his match with his heavy-set opponent, his smaller physique belying his strength, giving him the edge, allowing him to move faster, darting away from the special's massive fists. The agile, golden-haired man switched from a fist fight to karate, efficiently warding off blows and attacking with his legs and feet, baring his teeth the whole time. A chop to the side of the bigger man's neck decided the contest – the special went down…_

He reached with his hand to grasp Tatsumi's forearm, squeezing it.

"You were sensational, champ… I swear, I won't forget it anytime soon."

Self-conscious, Tatsumi's cheeks warmed; he couldn't prevent the heat from spreading to his ears, while warmth blossomed in his chest. He made a soft grunt of embarrassment, smiling shyly from the intensity of the eyes on him, eyes darkened by dilating pupils, full of an emotion the secretary never had occasion to witness before, an emotion he could not name at that point. He caught the movement of flesh at the Shinigami's throat, Adam's apple shifting as Tsuzuki swallowed. When he raised his eyes, he found he was still under close scrutiny…

He was caught, by alluring violet irises. Too many times to count, Tatsumi had seen reactions of people, women and men, young and old alike, of mortal and netherworlds both, as they beheld those shockingly beautiful eyes for the first time – he, himself, had been one of those hapless victims to have fallen under the spell of those eyes – their blushing skin in the face of such overwhelming beauty. The effect they had was especially devastating when Tsuzuki spoke with someone while wearing his sunglasses at the outset of these interactions, only to remove them or push them to the top of his head, as he was inclined to do. These unsuspecting souls would sometimes lose their wits, stammer, or would simply be struck dumb while they gaped. Blissfully clueless to his own charms, these reactions served only to baffle the Shinigami.

Following these recollections, he inevitably recalled those days… when he had been hopelessly enamored with him… when his body had rebelled against his will and had almost crushed his self-control… those nights, of engaging in acts of self-gratification with the help of erotic fantasies where Asato Tsuzuki was rendered stark naked, where he offered himself wantonly, gasping out his name… standing before the mirror in the morning, barely sated by his efforts to alleviate his desires, feeling that indefatigable thing between his legs stirring again, cursing it as though it were a perverted demon, having to frantically relieve himself once more so that the depraved thing wouldn't misbehave when he came into contact with the man who had turned him into this lusting monster… a monster who looked back at him from within the mirror, yet horribly unappeased, lusting again, from the mere thought of the first sound of that voice, the mere thought of that face, that winsome smile… he barely recognized himself, that pitiable man who had just licked his own fluid of release from his fingers and swallowed it while imagining it was HIS…_those eyes in the mirror… whose were they?_

At last, Tatsumi was able to label that emotion flickering in purple gems…

For his part, Tsuzuki hadn't intended for it to happen. He had been thinking of HIM, that one who had pulled that awesome stunt, that quake, that curtain of pitch blackness, skillfully terrorizing them without unduly hurting them, and then vanishing from his sight, fleeing with his Orimi, leaving him there, abandoning him… He had been gripped with shock, and a deep dread, sick to his core at the thought of never seeing him again…

Although the specials' tactics were repulsive, a glimmer of hope had sparked in Tsuzuki's heart when it seemed they just might succeed in capturing HIM. But he'd outwitted them all, eluded them and was gone, out of his reach, smashing all his hopes to pieces, hopes that had taken root after coming to a resolution…

After seeing him that morning, dazzling and utterly desirable, he knew beyond all doubts that he wanted him, wanted to be the one held by those arms, wanted to be the one swaying and shuddering from the brushes of his lips… he began toying with the idea of making a play for him, after he dealt with the entity that had plagued and ruined his beloved's life, toyed with this idea to the point of being emboldened by it… Oriya or no Oriya, he was seriously set on attempting… a seduction… feeling an incredible rush when he'd set his mind to it… musing about pushing Watari firmly in the right direction, lock him up somewhere with his rival, throw away the key, place a _kekkai_ around the place so nobody could get in, so they couldn't get out; cogitating: surely Watari was more than capable of seducing and occupying Oriya to the point of senselessness… yes, he would rid his path of that obstacle, that exasperatingly gorgeous creature, possessed of annoyingly long, shapely legs, legs that at that very moment might possibly be clamped around the body he so desperately wanted to own, and, infuriatingly bewitching hair, his crowning glory, hair that very likely was being entwined around and caressed by Kazutaka's fingers… while they… !

_No… no… no!_

His grand plans had vanished in puffs of smoke.

He was becoming unglued as he strode to Daisuke's cramped office.

_Damn it all, damn those idiots for failing to hold him down long enough… the nerve of Urasawa, calling US incompetent! You numbskulls botched it! Back up, indeed. What a total balls-up!_

He realized with shock that it wasn't so much the specials' cold, calculating methods he detested, but their failure that had infuriated him… as a result, Urasawa had become the target of his frustration…

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't thinking straight, but he shoved that subliminal thought aside – it was of no importance. Of paramount importance were his abject loneliness, his need to be loved, his desires… by and for a man who was an enigma – like himself – a man who was an aberrant, one who was tormented by his crimes. There was no mistaking Muraki's demeanor, the look in his eyes that morning…

_Surely we could understand and love each other… as kindred spirits… if you would only let me hold you… I'll burn away your torment… you, only you… can burn away mine… Muraki…_

And then, Tatsumi was there, in front of him, just when he had been envisioning, again, making love, with Muraki…

Tense with arousal, but with no one to hold, no Muraki…

But… Tatsumi… was there…

Tatsumi… who loved him… had loved him, long and hard… now, that love simmered quietly, steadily…

_At the outset of our friendship, that love had burned so fiercely it was frightening, Seiichi… I was flattered, but so scared… I wasn't prepared for it, couldn't accept it… I was so unstable… it wouldn't have been fair to you… I know it was so hard for you and so cruel of me… I was being so selfish, because I desperately needed you close to me, needed your care, needed your comfort… you were like wings wrapping around me whenever I reached out for you… nestled in their folds, I forgot my pain… I felt cleansed, there in your arms… I didn't want to lose it, that comfort… I truly was so self-centered, expecting you to be what I wanted you to be, while not giving you what you wanted… Seiichi…_

Tatsumi, who was always there… who would always be there for him…

_Here you are, when you should be resting… you just had to come, didn't you, because you wanted to see how I was doing… always thinking of my well-being, never a thought for yourself… soldiering on and on, for me… covering up what I'd done, hiding your injuries from Lord Enma…_

… … …

_All six of them had stood, with hangdog faces, eyes on the floor, lined up like a bunch of miscreant schoolboys before their headmaster, bedraggled, their clothes smeared with splotches of mud and dried blood…_

"_Urasawa. You may speak."_

_Enma's gleaming black eyes had flitted from one to the other while Urasawa, face cleaned up hastily prior to his appearance before the king, standing at ramrod attention, gave the brooding king a run-down of the morning's bungled mission._

_The captain had displayed surprising magnanimity…_

"_Secretary Tatsumi wisely withdrew, your Lordship, when Mibu's life was being threatened. It is wholly understandable that he did not want to risk calling Muraki's bluff. If not for that, I am certain he would have succeeded. As for my part, I sorely underestimated Muraki's prowess in the use of esoteric craft. Therefore, I take full responsibility for the failure of the mission and will accept…"_

"_Did all of you sustain those injuries from Muraki's actions?"_

_Without hesitation, Urasawa replied, "No, milord. It was a tense and stressful mission, and emotions were running high. Tatsumi and his men are, I believe, fairly well acquainted with Mibu. Their concern for his safety and that of his companion__was perfectly natural in light of this and they judged our methods of capture as being overly harsh. They are entitled to their opinions, and had our roles been reversed and we were in their shoes, we probably would have felt as they had. Altercations ensued, but I must stress that Tatsumi and his men were under duress…"_

"_I see…"_

"_Begging your pardon, sire, but it is imperative for us to begin finding them without delay. I've contacted Officer Seki. They haven't shown up at Muraki's last haunt in Tokyo, but the sweepers will maintain surveillance there, as well as Mibu's place in Kyoto, although I seriously doubt they'll make an appearance at these locations. Our attempt at capture most certainly has them spooked, driven deeper underground, so to speak, and they'll no doubt be harder to locate from here on. Seki's attempting to hack into files of the Land Ministry to obtain information on other properties that Muraki owns. Tsuzuki, Watari and I will work closely with the sweepers."_

_Tatsumi had craftily re-directed the king's attention back to their primary goal of capturing Muraki, thereby luring Nameless One to their doorstep. His ploy was instrumental in ensuring that they escaped, temporarily at least, a dressing down for the scuffling._

"_Very good. Carry on then, Tatsumi. Do your best, but have those injuries seen to at once, all of you, and keep me abreast of developments via Konoe or Kurosaki."_

_In the corridor outside Enma's office, Urasawa caught up with the secretary._

"_Hold up, Tatsumi."_

_Hostility cooled somewhat from the specials captain's magnanimity, the three regulars nevertheless bristled at the man approaching them._

"_Hacking into government files may prove difficult, not to mention risky. Their anti-hacking and tracer programs are formidable…"_

"_I'm aware of that, captain, and it's precisely why we resorted to other means to locate Muraki after Lord Enma's death warrant was issued," Tatsumi's tone was as civil as he could muster. "But at this point, we aren't exactly left with many options…"_

"_Hmm… is Seki any good?"_

_Tatsumi looked at Tsuzuki, who nodded. "He's their best hacker, and Watari here will assist." Looking over at the blond, he saw him eyeing Urasawa balefully._

"_I've a couple of officers in my ranks who are crack hackers. I'll dispatch them to sweeper headquarters…"_

"_We don't require your help," hissed an indignant Watari._

"_Take it easy, Taka," Tatsumi spoke to the blond soothingly. "We could use their help," he smiled at the Shinigami, while Tsuzuki put an arm around the sulking man's shoulders. Turning back to the captain, Tatsumi dipped his head graciously, ever the perfect gentlemen. "Thank you, captain, I accept your kind offer to assist."_

"_Not at all. I'll make arrangements for my two officers to be seconded to Seki's team for as long as they're needed right away. They'll report to Officer Seki within the hour…"_

"_I'm curious, Urasawa. Why the sudden interest? Why are you offering to assist us?"_

_The secretary's queries, in a somewhat acerbic tone, voiced questions hovering in Tsuzuki's and Watari's thoughts as well._

"_Three reasons." _

_The captain's face showed no affront when he spoke. In fact, apart from the haughty expression during the mission, his face seemed incapable of exhibiting any other expression at all, not even the slightest signs of discomfort from his broken nose and pulpy lips._

"_I hold myself accountable for the failure of the mission. Though I may not appear so, I'm in truth quite devastated to have let Enma Dai-Oh down. _

"_Secondly, I have a score to settle with Nameless One – this very entity has kidnapped a vast multitude of souls, thus making him an enemy of Hades, topping the list of most-wanted demons. A host of his victims, the ones we managed to rescue with the aid of the four Swords and Shields, remain in our treatment centers as a result of mind tampering and alteration procedures, as you are aware, Secretary. Lastly, I wish to make reparation for having offended you all. You think me cold and cruel, devoid of sympathy. Think what you will. I will not defend myself in the face of your judgments. I'm not interested in winning popularity polls."_

_The captain's bluish-gray eyes panned over the faces of the three men while he went on, in the manner of one reading a report, "I have only this to say: in my line of work, I simply cannot afford to let my emotions get in the way of getting the job done. I respect you and yours, Secretary Tatsumi, and Chief Konoe too – he was one of my best men, once upon a time, and I regret having caused you grief. Please accept my apologies, all of you."_

_The commander of the specials bowed stiffly and turned sharply on his heels. Pausing mid-stride, he swiveled round to face them again._

"_Should you choose to lodge a formal complaint, I won't hold it against you, Secretary Tatsumi. I will address all and any issues you may have at an official board of inquiry…"_

"_I do not feel inclined to pursue that recourse any longer, Captain Urasawa… however, I would like to have the opportunity to speak with you… in a less formal setting…"_

_For the first time since interacting with him, the commander's android-like expression gave way to a display of fleeting emotions, of surprise, puzzlement, and at last, geniality; a hint of a smile on his bruised, discolored mouth made a brief appearance before it vanished. He nodded, once. "I welcome that, Tatsumi-san."_

_Tsuzuki, standing close to Watari, watched the three specials turn a corner of the hallway, to move out of their sight. He turned a bemused face to the blond, shaking his head. "Well… I don't think that's something you would see everyday… Masaru Urasawa smiling…"_

_Watari seemed not to have heard his comment, and Tsuzuki was deeply unsettled by the coldness in his eyes. As with Tatsumi's, the blond's round-rimmed glasses had been smashed during their mission and the Shinigami had an unobstructed view of golden eyes, eyes that were those of a stranger and not the eyes that had always managed to lift him out of his dark moods in the past. Frowning, Tsuzuki sorely wished they had the time to hang out together, so he could attempt to cheer his friend up… 'What a sad pair we are, Taka…'_

_A thudding sound made both Shinigami turn around hastily._

_Tatsumi lay in a heap on the floor, unconscious…_

… … …

_Here you are… and just when did you… start looking… so… good…?_

His breathing accelerated while he absorbed the adorable pink sheen on Tatsumi's cheeks, the bashful smile brought on by Tsuzuki's show of concern and affection…

The walls, covered randomly by posters and notice boards, the narrow corridor, everything and everyone in the Shinigami's peripheral view faded, until a surreal space took shape in his awareness, a place occupied by just two people…

_Me… and… Seiichi… _

_Seichii… whose body was wounded by the reckless release of my damnable powers… underneath those clothes, is a tightly bandaged chest…_

Tsuzuki had seen that chest, lots of times, back when they'd been partners, when they'd shared hotel rooms…

_An attractive chest, with washboard abs, dusted with very fine, curling down… nipples, of the palest shade of pink… sakura nipples… underneath those finely-cut clothes… you're probably wearing baby-blue boxer briefs… no doubt there are lots of contusions all over your body… underneath your clothes…_

Inside his mouth, the Shinigami felt his tongue thicken. Urges of a libidinous nature zinged through him, with picture thoughts of him kissing those dewy lips, drawing out that moist, rosy tongue he'd glimpsed when he'd been laughing a moment ago, tasting it, his tongue, and the interior of his mouth…

_I'll bet he tastes as sweet… as good as he smells… I'd like to… want to… kiss and lick those bruises… bruises I put there… I'll lick them till they disappear… I'll mark you with love bruises…_

He envisioned them both, pressed together. He perceived that Tatsumi would be a tender, gentle lover. A tempting image of their mouths, on the brink of a kiss, Tatsumi's eternally sweet breath mingling with his… Tatsumi, waiting patiently for him to close their lips together…

_Why… am I chasing after a man who'll never be mine… when this one is right here, this man who is never far from me? No need for courtship rituals… he's in love with me, always has been… It's not so inconceivable, is it? Could we make a life together… you and I… Seiichi?_

The precise moment of Tatsumi's perception of his desire did not escape his intent browsing of the face before him. He saw eyes blink rapidly, after a frown of puzzlement, followed by a very slight widening of them. After the secretary's mind processed the Shinigami's blatant lusting, desire inflamed indigo. An unmistakable bouquet of the shadow master's pheromones exuded into the air surrounding them, to be drawn into Tsuzuki's nostrils. He felt the soft touch of a hand, settling and closing over his, the one still holding Tatsumi's forearm, heard the rapid thumping of both their hearts…

"Asato…?" A whisper, throaty, infused with passion.

"Seiichi…" He stared at the enticing tip of the secretary's tongue, visible through the gap between parted lips… the amatory ambience, and the unspoken but definite promise of delicious intimacies that awaited him made him shiver… his eyelids began drooping…

With third eye vision, he saw them… flashes… of molten silver… platinum, with interspersed white… that wickedly sensuous smile… inhaling them – whiffs… of roses… _his hands always smell of roses…_ cologne, with undertones of rosewood and tobacco…

When he opened his eyes, the face of his longing, the lover of his wet dream, was there, right in front of him…

He gasped softly, and the spell was broken, the image of his Ice Prince shattering, breaking apart like fragments of glass…

And all at once, he knew… that if he advanced further, obeying the insistent demands of his body and initiated sex between them, it would be the cruelest, most despicable act he could commit against Seiichiro Tatsumi…

_To use him… in that way…!_

The hand on his moved, fingers imperceptibly caressing, trembling…

He hadn't crossed the line yet, but…

_Considerable, perhaps irreparable, damage has already been done: I've re-incited his desires…_

_Unforgivable! Oh… great… gods…_

He did not want to hurt him, destroy him, by yanking his hand from under the secretary's, but dropped his gaze and squeezed his eyes shut, sighing wretchedly, cursing himself yet again… cursing the absent object of his obsession…

"Seiichi… I…"

Seiichiro Tatsumi took a step forward, closer to the shaking Shinigami…

_To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

_Hi to all of you who are still following this story, and thanks to all you regulars who posted your reviews. I know it's been some time since I updated. Illness and the passing of a loved one brought a halt to my writing, but I have managed to get back to it and assure you I will continue with this story. Thank you all for your patience and understanding. To give you all some incentive to look forward to more chapters, I have posted a short chapter._

* * *

_**Love and darkness**_

_**Part Eighteen**_

**_A sad reunion of two princes_**

Leaving his judiciary aides to complete their work of cataloging files in his office, Enma sought the privacy of the adjoining lounge, opening the doors to the terrace before seating himself heavily. Sipping the tea Jujiro poured for him, he shook his head, a habitual gesture he made unconsciously during periods of anxiety. Thanking his butler, he waited until the man withdrew before he clicked his tongue in irritation over the outcome of his Shinigami's mission to capture Muraki and Mibu. He grunted, musing…

_Muraki and Mibu… it somehow seems inappropriate… to think of them as such… now that I know who they truly are… Kazutaka… Kazutaka Shimahara… how imprudent and vainglorious of me to think my people could subdue you, the Eighth Prince of the First Family of the heavens, no less…_

Had the failed mission not weighed so heavily on his shoulders as the team of Shinigami had stood before him, he might have laughed at the sorry state they had been in. Except for Seiichiro and Masaru, the rest had been cringing, Asato wincing at the sound of his king's knuckles cracking at one point. Although outwardly unruffled, the captain of the Specials had been thoroughly deflated, and as Enma pulled at the stubble on his chin, he conjectured it was probably a good thing for Masaru to have experienced a dent in his over-inflated ego.

His thoughts strayed to a pale elfin face, messy golden tresses, and Enma frowned, concerned by Yutaka Watari's appearance. His distress had been due to an entirely different reason than fear of a rebuke from his king. Enma shivered involuntarily. There, in those golden eyes, he had glimpsed that once familiar haunted aspect, hints of ancient hurt, sorrow and rage…

_'Little monk'… what has awakened you?_

From the vast rooms of his memory, a man hovered in Enma's inner vision, the fearless warrior, standing straight-backed in the Great Hall of Judgment, a man who had become a legend while still living… the deep scar across his face, an obvious clue to his vocation, was his badge of honor. Even in his simple, ankle-length gray tunic, the garb of all the newly dead, he was the very embodiment of chivalric valor. Even when on his knees, broken and sobbing, he was glorious… the warrior who had won lucrative territories for his liege… the vassal seemed more noble than his _daimyo_ who loafed in the comfort and safety within his castle… a man who always led the charge at the head of his army… the mere sight of him on his faithful steed, a magnificent bay war-horse, man and beast moving in perfect synchronicity at full battle charge, both giving voice to their battle cries, was enough to strike terror in the hearts of his adversaries, many fleeing and scattering before that deadly sword held aloft by that left hand could cut them down… a man whose charisma and courage infected those who served under him, displacing the fear of imminent battle and death that gripped his men before an offensive with bravery, inflaming them to readily lay down their lives for him in battle.

So strong was the state of his soul that his form had been solid…

_"Toshizo Matsumura, why do you weep? Is it because you took your own life? And had you done so out of guilt from all those who perished by your sword?"_

_When Matsumura remained silent and toppled, his body curling on the floor of the Great Hall, his head thrashing from side to side, flailing as though he were being flogged, the magistrate in charge of his case pressed him…_

_"Speak, answer, Matsumura! May I remind you of whose court you are in! You are in the presence of Enma Dai-Oh…"_

_With supernatural speed and flurry, Enma sprung from his throne carved out of black basalt and glided like a great black eagle to cover the span of steps in front of it and descended amidst gasps from the magistrate and Matsumura's sentinel and advocate, both of whom had rushed to their charge's side when he had fallen to the floor._

_"General Matsumura is well aware of where he is, Magistrate Saiga," admonished Enma benignly, but cast his glowing eyes at him to forestall more of Saiga's objections._

_The two women, sentinel and advocate, respectfully moved away when Enma's feet settled close to the recumbent figure. There came soft murmurs and choked sobs from Toshizo, his shaking fingers reaching for the hem of Enma's robe._

_"Great Majesty… the pain in my heart is unbearable… I was… I was the cause of altering the course of another's life… he… he should have lived a life of goodness, purity… and prayer, surrounded by others of his ilk, the tonsured devout. But, because of me, he cast away his prayer beads and took up the sword… he should have worn unsullied white robes perfumed with the incense of a temple, not the trappings of a warrior, stained with blood… Oh, Akio… little monk… forgive me… forgive me…"_

_"You have a story to tell, Toshizo. Here I am, to patiently listen. Perhaps, in the telling of it, your pain might lessen."_

_Enma lifted a hand, and two chairs floated over to the king._

_When Toshizo came to the end of his tale, he covered his face with his hands and shuddered, overcome by misery._

_"I will go to the place of purgatory willingly, for every life cut down by the sword I wielded. Yes, the chastisements I'll readily face, for taking my own life. But, for the tragedy of Akio, there can be no sufficient punishment. I have no plea for myself, Lord Enma, but I have one for Akio… I implore thee, extend your hand of mercy when his time of standing here in your presence comes… please, he was not to blame…"_

_Enma hadn't the heart to tell the general that while they had conversed, a pair of his Shinigami had been dispatched on a mission to retrieve the soul of his lieutenant – Akio, the Two-blade Terror of only one name, a legend in his own right, a ghost haunting the grave of the man who sat on the chair facing Enma's…_

Enma gave himself a shake to rouse himself out of his memories and bring his thoughts back to the present.

_I would have gone myself, but just as O-Ran is bound by the laws of heaven, so are mine, by the laws of hell… the Lord of Hades has no jurisdiction in the mortal world… I am the king of the dead… by sending my Shinigami to nab those two, yet living, was in itself a breach of the laws of Hades… but how could I refuse O-Ran? Oh, I have broken my own rules several times in the past when innocent mortals were at the mercy of particularly troublesome demons and spirits, so why should I be concerned now, especially when all of O-Ran's hopes were riding on the success of that mission… Isao's too… and Sanae's…_

_Another one! Oriya Mibu, a scion of the gods, son of the First Sword and Shield! An infant who had nursed at the bosom of the Empress…_

Once more, Enma clicked his tongue irritably.

_Damn! I had that one, right here under my nose! But it would not have been proper to detain him here…_

The king was fidgeting now. An afterimage of the emperor's face, his voice quavering, on the verge of tears, O-Ran had recounted to him how the hybrid children had come into being. Quietly, Enma had listened and learned that besides Asato, Kazutaka and Oriya, more, many more had been born… the sanction, prohibiting the deities from stepping foot in the mortal world had been enforced… the great exodus of the hybrids from the heavens…

_"That child was the last of them, of the children born out of love between beings of two separate worlds… on him, my grandchild, rests all the fervent hopes of my Isao… the other is my grandchild as well, by reason of Hatate's adoption of Sanae…_

_"He had been pulled forth from his mother's body by Hatate's own hands…_

_"Her devotion to Sanae and her child are unfathomably deep… as with Sanae's period of infancy, the milk flowed from her when Oriya was born, and she nursed him during his mother's absences…"_

Black eyes fell upon the thick tome lying on the table, and Enma murmured, "A timely excuse to pay the Prince Royal a visit, now that young Kurosaki has managed to procure the first volume."

His hands hovered above the book, but Enma refrained from touching it – so delicate a thing it seemed, worn, browned and frayed by the passage of time. Carefully, he re-wrapped the heavy book in the length of silk it rested upon.

"Now where did I put volume two…?"

* * *

Perhaps he was a sappy romantic at heart, but… he was no fool. He knew, had known, however subliminally, ever since the man shrinking in front of him, back against the wall, had burst into Enma's hall, wearing his heart on his sleeve, that Asato Tsuzuki was in love.

Silently, he railed at the workings of fate, cursing them, as though fate was a whimsical trickster who delighted in the suffering of those it had singled out for its entertainment, laughing wickedly as the hearts of the lovelorn were toyed with. Yes, he thought bitterly, the hearts of sentient creatures were merely the playthings of fate, handled so carelessly, broken, then tossed aside and forgotten. The battles for Kazutaka Muraki's soul, and likely Oriya Mibu's as well, were struggles playing out amid strivings of the heart, he philosophized sadly.

As quickly as it had flared, Seiichiro Tatsumi's desire subsided. While mentally reciting the precepts of his training to gracefully accept Asato's choice, he took hold of his arm firmly and pulled him against his chest. The head of soft mahogany hair settled on his right shoulder, a place dedicated for the pillowing of it years ago. Who better to understand him than he, he thought, feeling the smaller form lose its hesitance and reluctance, feeling arms moving, fingers clutching at the fabric of his overcoat.

"I… I'm sorry… Seiichiro… I've been so selfish… I know you love me, that you've loved me since we first met… but I couldn't-"

"Ah, but you do, Asato… you love me… how could you not love me… your elder brother?"

Tsuzuki, his eyes wide and blinking, was incapable of forming words to express his feelings, of wonderment, gratitude and contentment. Held upright by Seiichiro's arms, he could not sink to the floor, overwhelmed in the face of such grace, to weep tears of relief and happiness. He could only sigh and whisper, "Arigato… arigato… onii-san…"

These simple words filled Seiichiro, sated him and swelled his heart. Throughout the years of his life, a future yet to be lived out, he would always remember this moment, when he became a better man, a precious milestone when he truly became Asato Tsuzuki's elder brother. For all his life, he would embrace that title, honored and proud.

Gradually, the two became aware of their surroundings and heard the soft coquettish giggles of a quartet of women, gathered in front of a beverage vending machine, casting furtive glances at them.

Seiichiro smiled as he drew apart from the reddening Shinigami.

"It seems we've caused quite a stir. Some damage control is required."

Dipping his head, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of seeing you all. "Megumi, Kamegiku, " he said smoothly while approaching the group of sweeper agents, calling into service his legendary charms, "Chie, Gina, you all look as lovely as ever…"

* * *

Upon his arrival in the heavens, Enma's first stop was the residence of Masato Mikoto. There the harvest god's aide, Kohaku, received him.

"Lord Masato will see you shortly, great lord of the underworld. Allow me to show you to his private garden. You might enjoy viewing the blooms while you wait."

Before long, Kohaku returned to where Enma sat in an arbor. Sunlight penetrated the shady recess, peeping through tiny gaps in the overhead canopy made of leaves. Carrying a tray of refreshments, she seemed one of the very flowers that surrounded them, mused Enma, soft, delicate and fragrant she was. Tiny white Jasmine blossoms bedecked the long braids of her dark hair. The buds of her smiling lips were painted sparingly with pale Peony pink gloss. Her almond-shaped eyes shone with their aubergine hue – this eye color marked her as a Mikoto, all of the clan possessed eyes of purple shades. Studying her face, he saw similarities in its structure and features to Masato and his half-mortal son, confirming she was a relative of the two, even though her complexion was not pale like theirs, but the color of a walnut shell. This umber tone imbued Enma with warmth, as did almost everything in the heavens. Unlike those of the mortal and under worlds, the celestial skies turned pale shades of pink and vermilion even after the seven suns hid their dazzling faces below the horizons.

Kohaku, blushing faintly from Enma's appreciative scrutiny, poured him a glass of nectarine juice from a pitcher and placed a plate of sweet morsels beside it, before floating away dreamily, humming a tune softly. Left alone, his eyes roamed over the garden, enjoying the calming presence of uncountable flowers adorning plants both stunted and tall, bushes and creeping vines, their scents mixing together in a heady bouquet that quieted his anxiety. How truly marvelous, he thought, that in a realm of constant summer where no rains fell, such abundance sprung from the soil. He remembered his first visit to the heavens when his congenial guide, a laughing Masato, had answered his astonishment…

_"The waters spring from the earth, Enma-kou, to feed the plants and trees, ornamental and food sources both, to form the oceans, ponds, lakes and waterfalls. They contain the essences of all our ancestors, who after having lived very long lives or for other reasons, have chosen to be assimilated by the elements of the realm, and are with us forever, communing with us in this eternal way, quenching us with sweet waters, caressing us with warm winds. They live on as well, in the moist, coiling mists of our nights, whispering to us with affectionate words and tender songs, nourishing and sustaining us with spiritual food for our long lifetimes, as long as we wish them to be."_

Enma rose to his feet, having heard Masato's heartbeat before he saw him, stepping through the wooden archway and striding swiftly towards him, as fetching as his son, offering his welcome with soft voice and open arms.

"My apologies for making you wait, Enma-kou, but it could not be helped. I was spending some time sending solace to my devotees," he explained, drawing his chair closer to his guest's. "In an age of ever-advancing technology, alas, the gods are rapidly losing their place in the hearts and minds of the mortals. Many no longer need us, for they have all they need. Half of their world is blessed with plentiful comforts and so we, and heaven, have become nothing more than stuff of fables…"

Masato paused with a wistful look in his eyes of pastel purple while his visitor nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.

"In the past, mortals who depended on the soil for their livelihood would begin and end each day with prayer and thanksgiving to me. But now, agriculture is a large-scale business, sustained by efficient, modern machinery. It is to be expected," he continued, smiling as his eyes followed a pair of dainty butterflies, fluttering their buttercup-yellow wings prettily in the air around them, each one never straying far from the other as though an invisible thread bound them to each other, "that we have become redundant in a world where acquiring wealth, possessions and positions of power are such important goals. Those few that still call upon me are those who have not, for one reason or another, managed to keep up with the frantic race to success and the establishment of great fortunes…

"Oh, but I am rambling! Forgive me! What brings you to me, Tsurudo? Have you brought news of my son? Is he well?"

Enma's eyebrows lifted slightly at the use of his given name. He became self-conscious, reddening; seldom was he addressed as such, but he did not mind Masato's familiarity in the least, but was pleased.

"I don't mean to alarm you, but… you being his father, I am obliged to tell you… he is under a great deal of strain," Enma paused and steeled himself against the whitening visage before him, hoping desperately the god would not begin to weep, as those of his ilk were wont to do at the slightest provocation. They were not ones to hide behind masks of pretense, Enma knew all too well, and when overtaken by joy, they laughed until their eyes gave forth tears, and when upset or sad, water gushed from their eyes to run in streams down their smooth cheeks… so honest and open, unashamed of displaying their emotions, like children… His thoughts shifted to the emperor and he winced, in sympathy for the tremendous burdens he had to bear – the price of the bejeweled diadem gracing his handsome brow.

"What happened?"

Reluctantly, Enma looked at Masato's face and saw what he had been dreading. The god could not wipe them away fast enough; his tears fell too swiftly for that. The lord of Hades glimpsed Asato's face, in place of his father's, as it had looked during his long incarceration…

_Raving and insane… he had torn the flesh at his wrists with his teeth, again and again… only to roar with rage when the wounds healed and closed almost immediately. His self-healing abilities served to further enrage and madden him; he was caught in a cruel and vicious cycle with no escape route… he was moved to a padded cell when he began bashing his head against the stone walls of his initial holding cell…_

These were among many images that still made Tsurudo heartsick to this very day…

_When he'd stepped into that cell for the first time, Asato had charged at him, a crazed creature gone mad in its cage, divested of all sense of self… his wild attacks were of no use, of course… like a beast that knew it could not overpower a larger and stronger prey, he shrank away from Enma, slunk into a corner, cowering and whimpering pitifully, making sounds that almost shredded Enma's heart. Thereafter, Enma went to him every day for months… talking to him in a gentle voice about every subject under the sun, while music Enma brought played softly in the background, read stories to him, coaxed him to drink and eat…_

_In the course of these visits, Asato would sit, mute and unmoving, in his favorite corner with his head bowed over his steepled legs, face shielded by his long matted hair. By way of miniscule movements of his body, Enma learned which stories and music affected him positively._

_One day, he brought with him a pair of parakeets. Removing them from their cage, he put them on a table and fed them seeds, talking to them as if they were his friends. After a while, Asato stirred and crawled slowly to the table to peer at the birds. He shied away, scurrying back to his corner when Enma smiled at him and held out his hands to him, a bird in each. He left the birds there, and Enma's breath caught when he entered Asato's cell the next day. The inmate's hair was swept back from his face – it appeared he had groomed himself – revealing his astounding comeliness. A chirping bird stood on each shoulder as he offered them seeds. Another first, since his arrival in Meifu: half of the contents of his breakfast tray had been consumed._

_The days passed, Enma never giving up on him, until the day those amethyst stones at last made contact and gave forth a deluge of tears. The king opened his arms to him, calling out his name softly. He waited, while the inmate's tears continued to flow, soaking the front of his tunic… one step, then another… Enma himself wept when his arms closed around the trembling body._

_Weightless in his arms, Enma carried him out of his cell, causing a sensation in the hallway. The taming and rehabilitation of Asato Tsuzuki was almost complete, and the sight of the scrawny form nestled against their sovereign's visibly moved his sentinel and counselor._

_Meanwhile, tongues had begun wagging affectionately in Meifu about how smitten their sovereign was with the notorious inmate with extraordinary strength and powers._

_Asato was installed in comfortable quarters with his pet parakeets, filled with books and numerous items to amuse and occupy him. Enma was delighted to discover his charge was a formidable chess player and spent many a quiet and enjoyable evening pitting his skills against Asato's – quiet, very quiet, because the king had yet to hear him speak. During one of these matches, Enma had been studying the chessboard, carefully pondering his next move, when a voice startled him – meek, low and hesitant…_

_"Can I… may I, please… go out into the gardens, sir?"_

_Such a wonderful voice! Enma had swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. "Of course you may, Asato…"_

_The next morning, when Enma came to his door to collect him, Asato announced timidly that he wished to set his pet birds free. As the two of them watched the birds fly off and settle to chirp happily on a tree branch, Enma's heart turned over when Asato whispered, "I wish it was possible… for my soul to become a bird… to fly away, soaring… over the green fields of young rice stalks, the snow-capped mountains, the oceans of deep and mysterious blues… and then, into the sun, become one with it, its fires melting me away into nothingness…"_

"Enma-kou?"

He flushed at the sound of Masato's anxious voice and searching eyes and cleared his throat.

"Asato… is losing control of himself… and frankly, it worries me. Masato, you saw it… that day, in the great hall of Meifu, didn't you… his passion?"

"Yes. I saw it. He's mine, my beloved child. I merged with his mind… and felt it… his passion for Kazutaka."

"I fear for him greatly… Masato… if Kazutaka is lost…"

"No. I will not think of that… cannot think of that… I will not give up on hope… this hope is the only thing sustaining me… sustaining all of us of the Shimahara, Mikoto and Ueda clans. We became a single family when my sister wed Omayuwa-Ran; when Gintaro Ueda, one of the twin gods of love, took Midori Shimahara to wife. The emperor travails because he cannot, will not swoop down into the mortal domain on Yukihime's back with Nagi Harada to retrieve his lost grandsons and carry them back to us. Our whole realm travails along with his quaking heart. The hearts of Isao and Sanae are faltering, sinking into despair. Subjects yearn to see the face of the first prince, his dazzling eyes, prismatic when he laughed, yearn to hear once again his voice, when he stood upon Shirohana, the highest mountain in the heavens and sang, his songs reaching every ear in the kingdom…

"I spoke with Sanae this morning… she told me she had begged Junko to perform a divination to discern if her child would return to her… Junko acquiesced, to ease her suffering, and spoke these words: 'Your son, the Ninth Prince, will come home.'

"Junko's prophecy is our candle in the dark, and I will keep my sight fixed on its flame… when Oriya returns, surely his paramour will as well."

"When that happens, Masato, will you approach O-Ran concerning Asato?"

"Yes. I will make myself known to him and reveal his heritage to him and gather him close…"

Emotion choked off the harvest god's words. Enma reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"I will rejoice with you when that time comes to pass."

After the harvest god regained his composure, Enma asked, "Will you accompany me to call on Eijisho? I need to ask him about nameless one. When I described its form to O-Ran and inquired if he had knowledge of it, he grew agitated. Both he and Eiji seemed fearful at my revelations. Seeing the emperor at his wit's end and the cautionary signal transmitted to me by Eiji, I did not seek to probe further."

Masato was silent as Enma followed him into the field beyond, where tall stalks of grass rustled and swayed in the breeze. A shrill whistle brought Toshimaru, from seemingly out of nowhere, bobbing its head as it trotted towards its master. Enma saw the sleek beast's muscles rippling beneath its shiny ebony coat.

As soon as Enma was settled on the stallion's back behind Masato, it unfurled its sinewy black wings and lifted into the air, ascending higher and higher into the clouds…

* * *

He watched his lover of old slowly peel off his gloves and drop them on the camphor wood chest.

"One of yours, this house?"

The tiny flame of a chrome cigarette lighter lit the face of the man hidden in the shadows.

Disconcerted, he waited for an answer, hugging himself, shivering slightly, unable to advance further into the simply but comfortably appointed living room, remaining where he stood, just inside the doorway.

His eyes followed Kazutaka as he moved towards the western-style fireplace, where small kindling logs were piled neatly, ready to be set ablaze.

He shrugged, assuming that his question had not been heard, or perhaps Kazutaka simply did not want to answer him, and stared at the strong back, at the head tilting backwards, at the ascending wisps of cigarette smoke.

Immortal blood called to immortal blood… as it had when two young boys had smiled at each other for the first time…

Slowly, Kazutaka turned to face him, a corner of his mouth turned up. Behind him, flames suddenly flared in the hearth, startling Oriya. Within seconds, the wood was burning, red-hot, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.

"No. Just a place I rented… it's old, but I'm sure you'll find it quite comfortable. There are servants about in the daytime. Unless I want them to remain for the evenings, they'll return to their lodgings, in a little hamlet two miles south, down the hill."

So self-possessed the smooth low voice, the smile, and so comforting – Kazutaka's voice had always been a spell for Oriya. Whether the voice had been yelling, laughing, crying, tenderly whispering to him while they had made love, it had immense power over him. At times, he could only repeat certain of Kazu's words numbly, like a fool with no mind of its own. Whether it had been the voice of a deadly predator rambling on and on about some grand scheme, or that of a long-time companion conversing with him quietly, Oriya had not been able to break free of the hex – even now, he did not question it, but quietly accepted it. His memory painted a picture for him…

_The shrine at Sagano… perched on a boulder, smoking his pipe… gazing at his beloved's profile, Kazu's eyes turned skyward… following that elusive gaze… the sky had been blue-black satin stitched with diamonds that night… his heart was heavier than it ever had been… he tried hard not to be affected by what Kazu was saying and turned to look at the flickering candlelight among the numerous stones, candles lit for the souls of those who had died very young… suddenly the soliloquy came to an abrupt end…_

_"If I should not return, my love, light a candle for me here, once a year. Find a stone and write my name on it – just one name – 'Kazu'... the name you call me by. Dampen the stone with your tears when you remember me… I too died very young. My body has continued to exist, but… I died… a long time ago…"_

_He remembered gasping and rising to his feet, in shock, feeling pain in every inch of his body… sudden rage overtaking him…_

_"You enjoy this do you?! Tormenting me like this?! Damn you! Damn you!"… Shocked again, seeing Kazu's face suddenly so close, full of anguish…_

_"No… no… no… I do not enjoy it, my love… you," Kazu had whispered, while his fingers caressed his hot cheek, "represent my worst, my most greatest sin… for you too died a long time ago, because of me, with me… we're just a pair of sorrowful ghosts waiting to be set free."_

_Then Kazu had laughed quietly, but it had been false laughter, pressed his chilled lips against his so tenderly…_

_He had wept; sobbing out of control, while Kazu gently wiped his tears with his thumbs. Brokenly he had begged, gripping Kazu's hands desperately… "Promise me… if you ever decide to go… don't leave me behind… don't leave alone… come back for me… take me with you… we'll go together… promise me…"_

_Kazu had nodded, sad little smile curling his lovely lips, kissed him again and faded into the distance along with the mists of the cold still night…_

Being together again like this, after so long, lulled Oriya and he immersed himself in an illusion for some precious moments, a world of make believe where they were one again, young again, full of vigor and dreams again, where everything was perfect, where a sun of love rose every morning, where they were both pure again, where certain… _events_… had not occurred…

"Oh. I see," said Oriya stupidly, gazing at Kazutaka, leisurely taking deep drafts of his slim cigarette. He thought he heard a deep sigh, and glanced about nervously.

Sconce lights along the walls began to dim; candles set on the mantelpiece lit on their own, by the same magic that had lit the fireplace.

That incredible, indescribable sensation overtook him again, as it had in the cemetery, of the flow of time being tampered with. He started slightly when Kazutaka spoke again.

"You're shivering. Is the fire not enough to warm you, my love?"

"No, I… I'm fine. I'm a little tired perhaps."

This was untrue. Never before, not even in his youth, had he felt so vital. He was further invigorated by the cold air of the northern highlands, where the temperature had dipped lower than that of the country's pulsating modern capital and its poised ancient one. He still had difficulty believing the manner in which he had been brought here: by flight, not in an aircraft, but by the flight of the man who watched him now with iridescent eyes. The moment they were airborne, he'd grown drowsy and had slept soundly, his head pillowed on Kazu's shoulder, only to rouse when they arrived here. Snow was falling then; Kazu had set him on his feet carefully, brushed snowflakes from their hair and clothes.

So many questions crowded his mind, questions that could not find their way out of his mouth, his throat stopped up by the whispered endearment, by the voice so full of love and care, almost weeping at the wonder of it – his lost lover come home to him. He wanted to cover and destroy the distance between them, take that shimmering form in his arms and cover it with kisses. But he held himself back. Sorrowfully, he realized the reasons for his paralysis: memories, of his hurt during their estrangement; even when they had still been in contact, they had been estranged. Fear, the other reason, was creeping into his awareness, like ice forming in his veins.

Blood, immortal, hot and potent, called to blood of the same ilk, making Oriya shiver again. He detected a tinge of misery in the eyes that glanced at him expectantly, quickly quashed as Kazutaka stubbed out his cigarette and moved with composure to a hutch of wood, ceramic and glass.

"Something… to warm the blood? Scotch?"

"Um… vodka, please, if you have any… neat."

"Of course."

He stared at the graceful hands at their work, detesting the formality, the shyness, the invisible wall between them. He felt like laughing one moment – they were like two people who had been dating and were now on the threshold of advancing to the next level, testing the waters delicately, carefully, to determine if they ready were to take their clothes off – and crying the next, howling like a wounded animal for all they had lost.

As soon as his fingers closed around the offered glass, brushing Kazu's warm fingers briefly, he lifted it to his lips, pouring the sharp, clear liquid down his throat in one go, prompting his host to fetch the bottle of Russian vodka and return to re-fill his glass. This time, he restrained himself and sipped it slowly, wondering why he was so unwilling to join the man who smiled at him innocuously before fluidly folding himself on the rug-covered couch. He tore his gaze from the staring eyes and walked to the French windows.

The fact that they'd communicated, mentally and effortlessly, while Yutaka and the rest had watched them now seemed so implausible. He shook his head, wondering if he was caught in one of his dreams.

_But it did happen! I heard his voice in my head, and I answered him, without speaking! Just like in dreams, when I hear everything being spoken…_

_A memory… of damp sheets… and sweet, unforgettable sex… flushed face of a golden seraph who had just been taken for the first time… he had been the fortunate recipient of that gift of innocence, given with a trust and devotion that brought a hot stinging to his eyes…_

_Yutaka… if only…_

Some of the vodka dribbled out of the corner of this mouth when he tossed his head back to drain his glass with his shaking hand.

Beyond the window, the snow continued its work in earnest, covering the earth, layer by soft layer, with its winter shroud of white. He heard the clinking of ice cubes, a crackle from the fireplace, the soft thud of a charred log falling and looked at the man reflected in the window glass, saw him set his glass down on the end table. He did not have to turn and look to confirm that those eyes of ice were still watching him. But the soft chuckling, that did not come from behind him, but from inside his head.

_'Are you afraid of me, Orimi? I assure you, there's no one else here besides the two of us…'_

_No one else… here…_

A woman's voice, high and clear, plaintively crooning her melancholy song of lost love, in traditional style, the yodeled parts executed skillfully, encroached upon the silence within the tepid room. He recognized the songstress, a favorite of his mother when she had been younger and healthier, and decided to dwell on this memory and how she could sing quite well herself before old age took a toll on her health, rather than on the fact that the stereo had turned on by itself.

Something was changing in the room behind him. The walls seemed to sigh. He smelled semen, acrid and nauseating. The fine hair on the nape of his neck rose as the fear that had lain in wait in his veins now charged into his heart. He let out a gasp of fright. He could not feel the polished oak floor under his feet, felt himself plunging into a void and clamped his eyes shut, his cry becoming a scream.

There were arms around him suddenly, what felt to him like iron girders, inhaled Kazu's scent, and yet he could not bring himself to open his eyes…

_Is the thing here? Is it lodged within Kazu's body? Am I going to ravaged, again and again…?_

For a stomach-turning moment, he recalled the sharp, ceaseless pain he had endured while he had been the sex toy of a demon.

His moment of horror came to an abrupt end. His eyes flew open. Blinking, he gradually became aware of being stark naked, lying flat on his back and of something warm and soft against his back, shuddering as Kazutaka's mouth moved along his neck. He pressed his nakedness against warm bare skin, his hand caressing a heaving chest, then lower, feeling damp down and the hot silken skin of the cluster of male appendages. Voraciously, he locked his mouth with his lover's, uncaring now of the possibility of his body being plundered by a lusting demon, his hand working the hard shaft he had found, relishing the familiar feel of its contours and the aroma of his lover's skin and hair, releasing it occasionally to cup and play with soft twin fruits, stroking with his palm and fingers.

He was transported back in time, to their 'first time'…

_How bashful they had both been then, Kazu gently touching his intimate parts only when invited to do so, then asking ever so politely in whispers for permission to suck on his eager, swollen flesh. Almost swooning from Kazu's slow, delicate sucking and stroking. Having long fantasized frequently of making love with his best, most adored friend, he'd wanted to thrust forcefully into that innocent mouth but had restrained himself, afraid of frightening his beautiful playmate. He'd surprised himself with his hungry boldness soon after Kazu swallowed his come, wantonly offering himself. When Kazu had hesitated, he'd pressed him down on his back. Straddling him and sheathing Kazu's horn, he had ridden him, giving voice to his pleasure with sounds he never thought he was capable of making until they both released. Before drifting into sleep, he had been horribly abashed when Kazu asked him, in shy whispers and very politely of course, if he had ever done this with anyone else, with a possessive and jealous gleam in his eyes…_

Squirming on the sheepskin rug and sighing blissfully as Kazutaka swallowed his cock and began his rhythmic oral strokes, he turned his eyes to the fireplace, his fingers combing through the head of hair positioned at his groin, tugging gently at hair turned golden by the flames in the hearth. He came quickly, Kazutaka releasing his cock to collect his jets of come in his palm and then coating his own shaft with the sap, a most satisfying sight to Oriya's eyes, almost as satisfying as his orgasm, making him frantic to have that gleaming horn slide into him. He flung his legs wide apart with a shouted directive.

Swiftly but carefully, he was filled. The sighs that passed between his lips were prayers of thanksgiving to the gods of love while Kazutaka loved him with his eyes, a perfect pair of mercurial pools, the lips of the mouth above him pouting with pleasure, calling out his name, the moniker given to him when they were still children. He had only to the watch the features of the exquisite face shifting to confirm how much pleasure his body was providing to his lover.

Kazukata kept his movements slow, withdrawing his cock fully at times, teasing Oriya into frenzy, inducing a tirade of expletives.

"Faster! Damn you! Don't tease me! Harder! You bastard!" And so on…

When he attempted to move his hands to pleasure himself, he found he could not. "Ah! Fuck you!"

Kazutaka clicked his tongue with affectionate disapproval. "Such words, from such a beautiful mouth. So beautiful when you're horny, so beautiful when I tease you."

Secretly though, Oriya's swearing during sex was incredibly arousing, and he began thrusting determinedly, groaning with the pleasure of it until Oriya's member grew stiff, the thin skin around it stretched tight, pulling up his balls as it slapped against his taut belly, in cadence with Kazutaka's urgent thrusts.

Their groans rose in volume. Oriya gave up trying to grip his sweetly aching shaft and concentrated on the pleasure escalating delightfully within his passage, at the point where Kazu's cock artfully rubbed against…

It became frenetic and almost sorrowful, this fusion, a desperate attempt to regain their perfect world within their perfect time, a culmination of pent-up passion, longing, loneliness, hurt, sadness, bitterness, regrets, and guilt, the whole of it melting and mixing in a cauldron of despair, heating and left to boil, at last to overflow…

Their flushed cheeks were streaked with hot tears, as hot as the sap that had spewed from them. Blind from the torrent of their tears, they reached to cling to each other, Kazutaka tumbling on to Oriya, the both of them sobbing wretchedly, oblivious to everything beyond the room, the world and its workings lost to them, each aware only of the other and the sound of their heartbeats…

Through his own blood in the amulet wedged between heaving chests, the emperor of heaven felt their desolation as they mourned for all they had lost, and tossed violently, his moan permeating the realm of the true immortals with a sense of foreboding and despair…

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_Daimyo: Japanese, meaning 'great holders of private land'. Daimyo were feudal lords who dominated Japan from the 12th to the 19th century. They arose as leaders of the samurai (warrior) class, who during the peaceful Heian period (790-1185) administered provincial estates for the civil nobility residing in the capital Kyoto._

_Haha, gotcha! I had you all there with Tsu's and Tat's cliffhanger in Part 17. It was mean of me and I anticipated all the objections, but it was fun nonetheless, keeping you all on the edge of your seats ;p Forgive me?_


	19. Chapter 19

**List of characters **(for the confused, memory refreshing, and to introduce a few new characters)

_Mortals: Kazutaka Muraki, Oriya Mibu; Sayuri Tanaka: reincarnated mother of Kazutaka_

_Shinigami: Asato Tsuzuki, Yutaka Watari, Seiichiro Tatsumi, Hisoka Kurosaki, Konoe_

_Enma: king of hell/hades; real (given) name: Tsurudo Miwazaki; Meifu and its judgement bureau are under the sovereignty of Enma Dai Oh._

_Miyoko Kawamura: former partner and friend of Seiichiro, a professor at the psychics institute in Meifu._

_Daisuki Seki: an officer with the sweeper division, a liaison organisation based in the mortal world; sweepers provide support to Shinigami on assignments by gathering intelligence, undertaking surveillance, etc._

_Masaru Urasawa: commander of Shinigami special forces, an elite team of Shimigami who operate similarly to SWAT teams, MI6, CIA, Mossad, etc._

_The celestials/true immortals: Omayuwa-Ran Shimahara: emperor of heaven, also known as O-Ran, the Sorrowful Emperor; god of fire. _

_Eijisho Shimahara: prince royal of heaven, god of scholars, brother of O-Ran, also known as Illustrious One._

_Masato Mikoto: god of the earth, god of the harvest, father of Asato Tsuzuki._

_Hatate Mikoto: empress of heaven, consort of O-Ran, sister of Masato; god of water._

_Isao Shimahara: firstborn son of O-Ran and Hatate, god of music and song, also known as the first prince, real father of Kazutaka Muraki._

_Midori Shimahara: sister of O-Ran and Eijisho, princess royal of heaven, god of woods and forests._

_Gintaro Ueda: the male twin of the twin gods of love, consort of Midori._

_Sanae Ueda-Shimahara: daughter of Midori and Gintaro, Sword and Shield of the East, de-facto commander-in-chief of heaven's army, adopted daughter of Hatate and O-Ran, real mother of Oriya Mibu; Sanae's army battles demons; after the ban on the deities presence in mortal earth, her warriors step in to aid Shinigami if their assignments involve demons._

_Nagi Harada: chief enforcer of O-Ran; enforcers are the emperor's personal guards who see to the enforcement of heaven's laws, a separate force from the army led by Sanae; Nagi is secretly in love with Isao._

_Junko Moriyama: Oracle of heaven; sovereigns of heaven are chosen by her divinations; also known as Most High, and Venerated One._

_Kyomo Sagawara: lover and consort of Junko; battalion general in the army headed by the Four Swords and Shields, god of the air and wind._

_Seijin Mukojima: lover and consort of Junko; battalion general, as above, god of lightning._

_Oshiro Iwako: former emperor of heaven._

_Makoto Shimahara-Iwako: consort of Oshiro; former Sword and Shield of the East._

_Iroki Shinoda: historical keeper and scribe; former student of Eijisho._

_Fumio Ikeda: mortal teacher and writer with whom Eijisho fell deeply in love._

_Yukihime: O-Ran's flight beast, a white dragon._

_Toshimaru: Masato's flight beast, a black winged horse._

_Homuya: flight beast of Makoto Shimahara, a white eagle._

* * *

_**Love and darkness**_

_**Part Nineteen **_

_**The fallen god's gift**_

Tension filled Daisuke's cluttered office...

Wearied by his racing thoughts, flashbacks of recent events in his life and of what might come, he shut down his mind and surrendered to the blessed oblivion of deep, dreamless sleep, sprawled on the couch...

When he jerked awake and turned his sight to the others, he found the scene unchanged. Yutaka, Daisuke and the two specials still at their work, unflaggingly chasing down pathways, through little cities of a virtual world displayed on the monitor, their heads huddled together, united in their common goal of breaching the firewalls in their way, their intermittent conferring low.

He saw his blond friend stifle a yawn, flex his shoulders and lean back in his chair. While he pushed up his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, Seiichiro's hands settled on those tense shoulders, fingers kneading. The gesture was appreciated with a squeeze from the blond's hand and Tsuzuki smiled, affection for the two of them washing through him. Suddenly catching a whiff of the shadow master, he realised that the blanket draped over him was actually Seiichiro's overcoat. He smiled again, rising to drape it over a coat rack by the door.

Phosphorescence flickered in the corner of his eye. He felt a disturbance of the air nearby and turned to see Urasawa's form materialize in degrees. After exchanging quick nods with the impeccably attired captain, he began plying the hacker team with freshly-brewed beverages and snacks, happy at having something to distract him, calm his nerves, which had begun acting up the moment he awoke from his nap. His trip to the cafeteria provided him with another opportunity to cast his telepathic net and trawl for Muraki...

On his return, carrying yet another tray laden with hot beverages and snacks, Urasawa had taken up a watchful position behind his underlings, arms folded across his chest. Tsuzuki heard one of them, the woman, address him. "We're making good progress. We're halfway there, sir." The man appeared to relax a little and glanced to his left.

Seated at one end of the couch again, Tsuzuki saw those sharp slate eyes settle on Seiichiro. Although he didn't know it, the secretary was being closely scrutinized.

The man being observed suddenly listed and the Shinigami sprang to his feet, but Urasawa got there before him. The captain's arm shot up to steady him, his voice low when he spoke, suggesting that Tatsumi ought to lie down. Watari, halfway up on his feet, returned to his work once he saw that his obstinate comrade was being seen to, his golden eyes narrowing with ire upon seeing who was attending to him. Tsuzuki sighed, expecting Seiichiro's protests and insistence that he was "perfectly fine" to resume anew, but instead witnessed quite the opposite. Where he had failed, Urasawa was succeeding. Either that, or the shadow master was simply too weak to keep his act going, thought the Shinigami, hoisting an exasperated eyebrow. He couldn't help but grin triumphantly when Seiichiro leaned into the support of the arm around him, allowing the captain to steer him to an armchair. The Shinigami's eyes narrowed with insight, viewing the spit-and-polish captain in a new light. Seiichiro's head lolled and located Urasawa's shoulder. Although very slender, the captain was as tall as the secretary. Brown hair brushed Masaru's cheek, and the captain's now-healed mouth twisted awkwardly; for one as emotionally stunted as he was, it was the closest thing to a smile he could engender.

In obvious pain, the secretary grimaced and sat slowly, his breathing fast and strained. Tsuzuki half-rose, reached for a mug on the tray he had brought in moments ago but once again, Urasawa beat him to it. He plonked his bottom back down, more amused than annoyed as the captain proffered the still-steaming coffee to his patient.

"I'm guessing that it would be futile to try and convince you to take to your bed for some well-earned rest," Urasawa paused to glance at the Shinigami on the couch, who nodded his agreement emphatically, "so, at least get some of this down. It's not the finest blend, but it's hot. It might help. And stay off your feet."

Tsuzuki blinked in amusement, suppressing another grin. The scene before him was almost comedic. Seiichiro, Mister Control, was meekly obedient, although the Shinigami conceded that he was in all probability, in too much pain for even a squeak to escape his mouth, which was at the moment pursed tightly, proof of his discomfort. As for the captain, Mister Emotionally-challenged, well... in place of its usual gruffness, his voice was markedly tender, thick with feeling when he breathed, "Here you go." The Shinigami's mouth gaped when he saw the captain wait patiently for both of Seiichiro's quivering hands to close around the mug before releasing it. Shadow master breathed his thanks; both men locked eyes, cobalt blue meeting milky blue-grey... captain's eyelids fluttered, his eyes looking away first... before he turned to stride briskly back to the hacker team, the rush of heated blood to the captain's pale cheeks did not escape Tsuzuki's keen notice. Tsuzuki wondered fleetingly about when it had happened... just when had the unsuspecting man found himself swept off his feet... he shook his head, laughing inwardly at himself... _he probably wouldn't be able to answer if I asked him... I don't know when it happened to me... perhaps love is like that... one never knows when one will be clobbered by it... _

_Your fourth reason, ey, Urasawa? Which is: you've got the hots for Seiichiro Tatsumi, Seventh Division Secretary, and the only Death God who holds the rank and title of Shadow Master... o-ho aniki, it looks like love's come a-tapping at your door... will you open it, or keep it shut and bolted?_

* * *

Masato allowed Tsurudo to enter before him, frowning at the timbre of Eiji's voice. Responding to his announcement of their arrival and soft tapping at the door of his study, the prince royal's voice, calling for them to enter, sounded strange to him, so unlike that of the ebullient man he had known through the ages. The sight that met their eyes disturbed them as they approached him.

It seemed that it took a lot of effort for the emperor's brother to rise from his chair by the open drop windows, as though his body had aged with debility overnight. Tsurudo forestalled him with a clicking tongue and feigned disapproval. "Stay where you are and at ease, my dear Eiji." A wide grin lit up his face. "Aren't we just a couple of old friends come to call on you? You will honor me if you treat me as such and dispense with stuffy formalities." King Enma turned to his companion, beaming. "Isn't that right, Masato?" He took hold of both of Eiji's hands in his.

Masato nodded, determinedly keeping his mouth curled with his smile, which had almost vanished when he glimpsed his beloved kinsman's countenance. His heart clenched with shock and sympathy. He was greatly panicked, but would not allow himself to reveal anything other than mere joy at seeing him again.

_Oh Eiji... great battered rock of the emperor... with no rock of your own to fall and lean against... Do you still pine for him, that young scholar with hair and eyes of bewitching black, and tempting cherry lips of pouting mortal flesh? Keeping up appearances all through the ages, with no lover at your side to fill and comfort you... Now with this uncertainty of the fate of those two, your beloved nephew's child, and that beauteous infant that came forth from Sanae, a child you adored as much as Hatate did, you are at last crumbling... you have the look of one who is about to make THE CHOICE..._

He was gripped by an urge to hold him tightly, sooth that poor, lonely, hidden heart within that strapping chest if only for a little while; find comfort himself in this embrace for the yearning of his own estranged child, but he resisted it due to Enma's presence. But Eiji's sunken, lustreless eyes found his, his will deserted him. A sob found its way out of Masato's throat and he fell into the arms opened wide for him.

Tsurudo Miwazaki turned and moved away from them, giving the two some solitude for their brief moment of tender consolation.

* * *

On the rooftop of a building, Asato Tsuzuki shut his eyes and hung his head, disappointed, defeated.

_It's as though you've left this world... I can't sense you at all now... did you pick up on my attempt to sense you? You must have, because for just a few seconds, I'm sure I locked on to your thoughts. You were thinking of him, your Orimi. I saw him through your eyes, close, in front of you. He was looking back at you, face twisted with sadness, as yours must have been, tears flowing down his cheeks... you were trying to find words to tell him how sorry you were, how much you loved him... such torment, such hopeless thoughts, silent cries for help... I saw Oriya's lips moving... I spoke your name, told you I would help you. And then, you must have sensed me, I felt the shock of your mind against my intrusion... the images were cut off and my mind became blank, black. I tried to sense Oriya's mind but found nothing. Why are you hiding from me? Why won't you let me help you?_

Downcast, he picked his steps across the wet tar sheets that lined the rooftop, sidestepping the pools of water in the sunken spots, his hair and clothes spattered by the steady drizzle of rain. The door he approached, leading to the stairwell, suddenly swung open, pushed open with so much force that it crashed against the wall with a loud bang and then shuddered, straining at its rusty hinges. Lost in his thoughts, he was severely startled.

"Guessed I might find you here, Tsuzuki. Mind if I... speak with you?"

Tsuzuki gaped at the slender silhouette of Masaru Urasawa moving towards him while waiting for his heart to re-start.

"Sorry for startling you," Masaru went on, in his brusque robotic manner of speech, coming to a stop at a polite distance from the bemused Shinigami, his breath made visible by the icy air, securing the sash of his long leather coat quickly with a single knot. "It's freezing out here. What on earth are you doing up here anyway? If you needed some fresh air, don't you think you should have at least worn your coat? It's raining, or hadn't you noticed?"

The Shinigami blinked, jaw still slack, wondering which question to answer first. In the next moment, he was laughing out of control. The captain stiffened, pale complexion suffused with red. "I'm sorry..." He swallowed and tried again. "I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry about it, Urasawa-san," Tsuzuki thumped the captain's upper arm with a sassy fist. "Of course you may speak with me... and, thanks for your concern for my well-being."

The spark of humour and mischief in violet eyes thoroughly disarmed Urasawa. Unused to the flood of emotions currently destabilizing him, he lowered his eyes, feeling vulnerable and brittle, shrinking from the fabulous colour of the eyes pinned on him.

In the dimness, the Shinigami's sharp eyesight glimpsed glinting tiny reddish hairs of the eyelashes curtaining the captain's eyes. Fingers encased in soft black leather curled and uncurled with tension and uncertainty, jaws clenching and throat swallowing, the words were having a hard time of it, trying to get out...

"So, what's up? You seem all strung up, enough to have almost taken that poor door off its hinges."

Still nothing came from Urasawa. All Tsuzuki heard was another gulp. Throwing his head back and inhaling deeply with eyes closed, he murmured, voice almost a whisper, but Urasawa heard the words.

"There's... there's a little place down the street there." The wind caught and stirred his dark hair as Tsuzuki indicated the direction with a small twist of his head. "It's warm, dry... has some slow jazz going, nice husky-voiced female singer... lots of bottles with coloured magic stuff in them all lined up in rows." Even in the gloom, the colour of the Shinigami's eyes made the captain gasp softly in tribute to them. But he could not hold that glittering gaze for long and so dropped his sight to the puddle in front of his boots, saw in it the reflection of lightning illuminating a patch of dark sky. "I need... some of that magic right now. I'll put some away while you... talk... tell me what's on your mind."

Slowly, the head of tawny hair, washed so scrupulously that it shone like silk, lifted. Bewilderment, embarrassment and reluctance lingered in Masaru's eyes and tweaked the death god's heartstrings.

_Long time, or perhaps, first time, you've felt like this, ey, Urasawa? Horrifying isn't it? To discover that you no longer have control over yourself... that you're so vulnerable... breakable... that someone has such power over you... someone whose mere presence can make you so deliriously happy, make your heart race like that, make you want to cry like a kid... enjoy the crazy ride if you can, captain, and hold on with everything you've got... you're a slave to love now, and it's only the beginning._

Adopting an easy air of cheerfulness, he stepped closer to him, grinning. "You may have heard that I'm an incorrigible drunk at times, but I assure you I have no intention of getting drunk tonight because I'm on call, see? The moment those whizzes hard at work down there in Seki-kun's office hit pay dirt, I'll be ready to deploy. But right now, I need a drink. You need to talk... get some answers. You came to me, so I'm your man. What do you say?"

"I don't drink-"

"You can have milk, tea, juice! Or water or nothing! Quit stalling, I'm thirsty! And I want to get indoors out of the rain! This isn't like you, captain! Do you want me to punch your lights out and sling you over my shoulder?"

Masaru squared his shoulders, a hint of his arrogance igniting brilliantly in his narrowing eyes. "No, thank you. I've felt quite enough of your fist for one day."

_O-ho aniki... this one's loaded with fire, enough fire to melt all that frost you've put around your heart because of me. He's a beauty too... something tells me he's going to be perfect for you... once he learns how to stop being such a prick anyways..._

Tsuzuki's teeth flashed in a broad grin. "That's more like it."

The two forms on the rooftop became transparent before vanishing completely.

* * *

His voice weak and hoarse, eyes unfocused as they stared out the window, Eijisho began his account.

"No one thought it unusual when the Oracle consecutively chose a member of the Iwako family for over two millennia. The Iwako kings and queens were conscientious and wise rulers, except... for the last... or more accurately, the second last..."

"That would be Oshiro Iwako?"

The prince royal nodded slowly, as if his head was too heavy, at Masato's question. "His conduct and decisions were faultless until he became a father... it would be unfair to label him a thoroughly inept king... except for the regrettable fact that his errors of judgement served to cancel out all the good and great he had ever accomplished."

Without thinking, Enma squirmed slightly in his chair, wondering as to what relevance the Iwako dynasty had to his question: who, or what, is Nameless One?

Eiji slowly turned his haggard countenance to him. "Bear with me, Tsurudo. The answer to your question will become clear soon enough." At once Enma lowered his head in apology, but Eiji's smile was sweetly forgiving.

"When Oshiro's consort, Makoto, a Shimahara princess and a forebear of mine, was with child, she visited Junko, hoping the Oracle would be able to discern the gender of her unborn child. Junko told the queen that she would bear more than one offspring – five, in fact. Makoto was at first disbelieving, but when Junko convinced her of the accuracy of her prediction, the queen was jubilant.

"Thus, Makoto was bewildered when she brought forth only one baby, who was named Hirose by his proud father."

The listeners widened their eyes simultaneously, sitting upright, fully attentive now to the prince's narrative.

"When the news of Hirose's birth reached Junko, she flew post-haste to the palace to view the newborn infant. It was said that after she gazed at the child in Makoto's arms, she backed away, began to tremble, all the blood draining from her face, whispering, "No," over and over while shaking her head.

"With a cry of terror, she staggered to the open window, out of which she leapt and took flight. So swiftly did her wings beat to carry her away from that room that all one could discern was her form zipping through the air. Neither the midwives and wet nurses nor Makoto could comprehend Junko's behaviour, for they were all besotted with the infant, so indescribably beautiful was he. The queen attributed the Oracle's reaction to surprise and perhaps, embarrassment at being wrong in the foretelling of the birth of quintuplets, and quashed the disquiet in her heart, for she had believed Junko's prediction wholeheartedly. It was true that her belly had been quite enlarged, to the point that she had taken to her bed two months before she began her birth labour because it proved entirely too strenuous for her to remain on her feet.

"As for Hirose, well... he was quite large for a newborn infant. Oshiro held a lavish feast to commemorate the birth of his son. Junko declined attendance at this fete. Emperor was enraged, empress was puzzled and hurt.

"On the following day, emperor demanded that Junko appear before him to explain her impertinence, but she refused, with unfortunate consequences. The royal enforcers were despatched to the Oracle's palace on Oshiro's orders, to have her brought forcibly to his court. A skirmish took place between the enforcers and Junko's guards. Appalled by the brutality of Oshiro's enforcers, she finally conceded to appear before the king, only to remain tight-lipped when an explanation for her conduct was demanded of her. She relented somewhat only when the empress entered the court in tears. Seeing Makoto's distress, she implored for forgiveness for her lapse, with marked defiance, however. Although Oshiro yet seethed, he pardoned Junko grudgingly.

"Oshiro doted on his son to the point of distraction, and the boy grew... very quickly... according to my father, at an abnormal, frightening rate. While still a child he had the physique of an adolescent. But, Oshiro was completely blind to this aberrance. Makoto became more disturbed as she witnessed this. Even more horrifying to her was the fact that Hirose continued to demand to nurse from her. Repulsed, she would not submit, but there came a day when the prince brutally subdued her to have his way. To complement his 'blindness', Oshiro became deaf – to the empress' pleas to keep Hirose restrained from touching her – and ordered her to perform her 'duty' to their son by nourishing him with her milk. Outraged, she refused, declaring, 'That thing is not our child!' The emperor merely glanced at her with disgust, saying, 'Then whose child is he? Do you mean to imply you have been unfaithful to me?' She could not answer, but stared at him in horror, at that moment realizing that something was amiss with her husband, perceiving that he would not support her no matter what atrocity Hirose committed. A cold claw of intense fear clamped around her heart and she ran from him.

"Makoto endured the demands of Hirose to be fed, until he seemed to grow bored of it, distracted by other pursuits, none of them wholesome to say the least. Woe it was to any servant or courtier who caught his eye – man or woman regardless – these victims, provided they ever again emerged from his chambers after the depravities and perversions they had endured in Hirose's bed, would flee the palace never to return. Ten years after he was born, his appearance was that of a fully grown man, and no one could say for certain that it was his beauty alone that made it impossible to refuse his demands to appease his sexual appetites, or whether he was employing other means, such as the inherent powers he possessed as an immortal. My father heard told from some who had heard it from others, about his visits to the mortal realm, where he preyed upon and tormented innocent mortals, driving them to madness, enticing them with his charm and beauty, to rape, maim and murder, all for his enjoyment..."

Eiji paused, for breath, and to sigh deeply...

* * *

He made swift work of two Margueritas before calling for a double martini. Now, he watched the hands opposite him, hands that didn't know what to do with themselves, and anxious eyes that darted around, looked at nothing and saw nothing. Asato Tsuzuki sighed impatiently.

"A pity you hadn't brought your knitting. That way, you could've kept your hands occupied."

At once the hands in question stilled and disappeared from the Shinigami's view. At his lap, Masaru Urasawa commenced picking at his cuticles, his Virgin Mary left untouched and growing tepid.

"If you don't start talking, I'm going to start charging you by the second, captain. I could use the extra income." The Shinigami drained half of his Pernod and suppressed a burp, eyeing the sweat breaking out on Urasawa's pale forehead.

"I… well… I…"

"Keep going, out with it."

"I… I think… this… was a bad idea-"

Tsuzuki scoffed. "Nonsense! Tell me what's on your mind. You'll feel better if you do, I promise you."

"I… well… you see… I… are you… are you… and… and… Secretary Tatsumi… together?"

In the subdued lighting of the bar, violet eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Together? In what way do you mean exactly, by together?"

The captain's mouth, normally so contemptuous in its affectation, opened and closed repeatedly, like a suffocating fish.

_Ah, this feels so good. Like slowly roasting you on a spit. Pay-back, in a way, for being such a jerk, for what you did to Muraki and Oriya. Oh, what fun!_

"Hmm. Why, whatever is the matter, captain?" Tsuzuki leaned forward, his voice full of concern, while Urasawa's eyes bulged. "Let's see now… together… ah, do you mean like, together on this mission?"

"Not that!" snapped Urasawa with an anger that caused the Shinigami to jerk backwards in feigned fear, his hands up to shield himself.

"Oho! You're wound up much too tightly, my dear captain. May I recommend that you imbibe some magic juice? It's really medicinal you know, for what ails you-"

Urasawa's hand shot out from under the table to grab the Shinigami's glass. The remaining martini disappeared down the captain's throat. Tsuzuki grinned as he saw the captain's face grimace and twitch as the glass slammed back down on their table. Sighing, he summoned a waiter. "Another double martini, please."

"Make that three!"

Tsuzuki shrugged.

No sooner had they been served, the captain downed his two martinis and grimaced again. The Shinigami smirked at the man, who had covered his face with his hands. "Feeling better, captain?"

Urasawa shook his head. "I feel sick."

A melodious giggle rippled from the Shinigami. "No, captain. You're not sick. You're in love."

Urasawa dropped his hands and stared. "Give it to me straight. Are you and he… Tatsumi… tothether? Are you an item?" He slumped back on the banquette, exhaling heavily.

The Shinigami sipped slowly and delicately from his glass and raised an eyebrow, considering tormenting the miserable Urasawa further, but desisted. After all, he was madly in love himself. He thought of poor Watari, trying to keep it together in the face of the loss of his beloved Oriya… Oriya, reclaimed by the one he himself loved…

"No, but we're close, close like brothers… we've known each other for a long time."

Urasawa straightened, relief and hope mingling on his face, but suddenly collapsing with angst once more. "Is he… spoken for?"

Tsuzuki shook his head. "No. He's not romantically involved with anyone… as far as I know, that is." He opened his mouth again, on the verge of saying something more, and then shut it, deciding not to the mention the fact of there being the possibility of a rival for Seiichiro's affections. This potential rival, insofar as Tsuzuki knew, had not yet made any moves with regard to his passion for the shadow master… but if this said rival were to discover that another had set his sights on Seiichiro, he might just be spurred into action… how would Urasawa fare, he wondered as he drank the last of his martini, if pitted against the King of Death, Lord Enma himself, in a battle for Seiichiro Tatsumi's love? He chuckled to himself. _Best of luck, Urasawa, if it should come to that._

"What? What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing… nothing at all. What do you say to one last drink? I'd like to drink a toast to your-"

Both men leapt upright when the cell phones in their jacket pockets vibrated…

By the time Tsuzuki and Urasawa re-appeared in Seki's office, five teams of sweepers plus Urasawa's two subordinates) had been mustered. Each team of five was to be led by Watari, Tsuzuki, Seki, Urasawa (who eagerly agreed to stand-in for Tatsumi), and another sweeper named Munei.

Their mission was to check out the five properties which were located in and out of the capital, two bungalows and three apartments – fruits of the hack job into the land ministry's database – which were listed as being under the ownership of Kazutaka Muraki, apart from the penthouse in Tokyo which they already knew of. As Tatsumi had foreseen, Muraki had not put in an appearance at this residence, nor had Mibu returned to the Kyoto inn called Kokakuro.

"Maintain maximum cloaking at all times, and if you spot either one of them, do nothing, but contact me at once. I will remain here." Tatsumi's voice was tired and monotone, but his gaze picked out Tsuzuki from among the gathering of men and women, his eyes imploring the Shinigami to desist from acting independently and impulsively. Tsuzuki nodded and silently conveyed his assurance, mostly out of compassion for Tatsumi's wretched appearance. "Dismissed."

* * *

The pause in the prince royal's story provided an interval to refresh themselves with tea. When their cups were set aside, Eiji continued...

"A dark tragedy was swiftly unfolding...

"Tales of Hirose's deplorable exploits reached Makoto's ears, and her horror became despair as she wondered how her body could have brought forth that monstrous being, but nothing could have prepared her for his invasion of her chambers, his eyes lit with lust...

"And so it was that in the dead of night, Makoto fled from the palace, accompanied by Tamiko, her most trusted handmaiden, seeking refuge and safety at Junko's palace. The Oracle was surprisingly calm at the sight of the empress' hysteria and her torn and bloodied night robes, remaining unshaken at Makoto's shocking revelations...

" 'Hiro... no! That monster! Had forced himself upon me! And attempted an unspeakable act... I fought him off... tried to at least, but he was so strong... it was Tamiko who came to my rescue... she stuck a kitchen cleaver into his skull... blood splattered from his head... this blood here, on my clothes, is his... I was not hurt, only a few bruises from his gripping of me... no, I am not hurt outwardly; it is my heart that is almost destroyed... I thought he was dead as his body slid off me... but when we had reached the door of my chamber to make our escape, I heard him moaning... he was coming to! When I glanced back, I saw that he was sitting up and was attempting to pull the cleaver out! Oh, Junko, most high and venerated Oracle, please... help me!' she cried, stumbling into the embrace of Junko's arms.

"When she had calmed, the terror had gone from her eyes, only to be replaced by the look of a being whose spirit has departed from her body, she spoke, her whispering muffled against the Oracle's breasts, where Makoto had pressed her face, like a child seeking its mother's warmth and comfort. 'You knew... didn't you? When he was born...? You knew! That something... was horribly wrong... that he is not... not of us, Oshiro and I...?'

"Junko paused in her gentle rocking of her and kissed Makoto's hair, before giving her over to the care of Tamiko, who urged her to lie back against the pillows.

" 'Yes. And you knew as well, but could not bring yourself to believe, because you had brought him forth... and because you could not accept-'

" 'How could I... how could my body have spawned that... that creature?! What... what became of my own... my offspring?!'

"Filled with pity for the distraught empress, Junko took her into her arms again, for she knew that when the truth finally penetrated the wall Makoto had put around her psyche to shield herself from the pain and grief, her hold on her would prevent her from fleeing away to some isolated spot, to mourn until her body could no longer contain her broken spirit. 'You are not to blame. You are the innocent victim of a most cruel and dark scheme of an evil entity. I ask of you now to be brave, as brave as you have ever been in these days past, no, braver than that, stronger than that, Makoto, and you can, for I know you well. Prepare now to accept the truth. Deep in your heart, you know... what became of your beloved babies, but have sought to deny the sad and terrible truth...'

"The Oracle's arms tightened around the violently convulsing empress, Junko's tears falling at hearing the screams of grief emerging from Makoto's gaping mouth, only half aware that her consorts, Seijin and Kyomo, had entered the room and were approaching the bed, their expressions deeply marked with sorrow for Makoto.

"`Yes, dear one, mourn for them now, let them all come out now, all your tears for them... for your lost children.'

"Sometime during her night of deep grief, Makoto Shimahara plotted her revenge, and at the first light of dawn, she and her handmaiden returned to the palace. Hirose refrained from harassing the queen, behaving in an exemplary manner if their paths crossed such that anyone who witnessed them would only have cause to believe him a most exemplary and dutiful son.

"By and by, Emperor Oshiro put forth his intention of abdicating his throne in favour of Prince Hirose taking his place. It was an audacious flouting of one of the most sacrosanct of our laws – the selection of kings or queens is solely the Oracle's duty. Later analysis led my father to believe that Hirose's intention was clear – he wanted the Oracle gone, out of his way, and influenced Oshiro to enrage her with his announcement. It worked. An enraged Junko descended upon the palace to confront him. Her outrage had unfortunately robbed her of rational thought – she should not have gone alone. Her censures and accusations against the prince, of his being a malevolent entity, an impostor who had devoured Oshiro's and Makoto's true offspring, met with Oshiro's derisive laughter, and he in turn calmly accused the Oracle of high treason, of plotting to assassinate the prince, savagely striking her in front of a smirking Hirose. In shackles, Junko was dragged from the imperial court and cast into a dungeon to await her execution by beheading, which manner of death would be performed by Oshiro's hand!

"When Junko failed to return, her two consorts, Kyomo Sagawara and Seijin Mukojima, sent an envoy to Oshiro's court. Needless to say, they were incensed to learn of the unpardonable handling and imprisonment of the Most High Oracle. Prince Seijin and Princess Kyomo, cohorts and abettors of the Four Swords and Shields, formidable warriors themselves and responsible for subduing and destroying demons that had harassed and oppressed mortals, mustered an army from their clans. Along with members of Junko's constabulary of guards, they prepared to storm the Emperor's palace, and wanted no less than the heads of Oshiro and Hirose for what had been done to their beloved Junko. The then Swords and Shields attempted to intervene and halt the impending attack upon the palace to avert chaos in the realm, but they lacked true motivation, having heard of Hirose's exploits. Nevertheless, they pleaded with Kyomo and Seijin for restraint but their fury would not be appeased; not until their swords had been bathed with the blood of Oshiro and Hirose, they declared, and Kyomo's arrow fired their written declaration of war right into the very floor of the throne room of the palace.

"The empress sprung into action. She sent a trusted emissary to the Oracle's consorts, pleading with them to hold off their attack, promising them a resolution to the deplorable affair without bloodshed and the safe return of Junko to their arms. They agreed, for Makoto's sake. Next, employing all her womanly charms, Makoto set to work on Oshiro. After exhausting him in sex play, she began cooing sweetly in his ear. It would be inauspicious, she pointed out, to have the Oracle executed with the impending enthronement of their son. 'I desire it to be a truly joyous occasion,' she cried tearfully. 'Nothing, especially the death of the Oracle by your hand, should mar his coronation. Kyomo and Seijin will stop at nothing to get Junko back and to punish you for striking the face of their paramour. They have amassed a vast army against us. Oh, my beloved, it is clear that the Oracle is not in her right mind and this has caused her to oppose you. Harm her and we'll face the wrath of her consorts... our precious Hirose might be harmed! I beg you to release her. Let us then turn our minds to preparations for Hirose's coronation.'

"Makoto's depiction of a devoted wife and mother won the emperor over. 'Very well. I will do as you ask. However, I will release her after the enthronement. Once Hirose is emperor, I will have her and her troublesome consorts banished to the outer lands bordering the perimeters of our realm. Seijin and Kyomo's talents will be put to good use with the eternal task of keeping our realm safe from the demons of Middle Space. The time of choosing celestial rulers by Oracle is over. That dual-gendered freak can retire to a life of cooking, cleaning and weaving for her lovers for all I care!'

"At the banquet following Hirose's enthronement, a glowing Makoto ensured that her husband and 'son' became thoroughly inebriated. When they finally lost consciousness, she ordered the courtiers to carry them to their bedchambers, while she bid farewell to all the guests who had come to toast the new emperor. As soon as the doors of the banquet hall were closed, she hurried to the cell where Junko was imprisoned and freed her; it had been simpler than she had expected, the guards were dozing peacefully.

"The two then made their way to Hirose's bed. Junko would later comment on Makoto's bearing as she glanced at her while she looked down at Hirose, muttering in his drunken sleep. 'The air crackled around her, and flames seemed to blaze in her eyes as her aura flared and swirled, its colour changing from white to scarlet,' she said, and she was disturbed by a forewarning: what was about to unfold in that bedchamber was but an overture to a series of cataclysmic events that would put the heavens on a slow but inexorable course towards absolute sorrow, absolute loss.

"She put her hand over her mouth to stop her sob at what she envisioned, but Makoto's voice pulled her out of her terror. That voice was broken from her pain and rage at first, but began fortifying as she tossed her head defiantly and reclaimed her lost identity, the identity that was her birthright – the fearless, the headstrong, the pure, the wild woman who had relentlessly patrolled and protected our borders against the constant incursions of the rabble of demons from Middle Space who constantly sought to invade and overrun our realm, a forerunner of our own beloved Sanae Ueda-Shimahara and former mentor and leader of Kyomo Sagawara and Seijin Mukojima, and became once more the woman she had been before her marriage had tamed and re-moulded her into Oshiro's tractable consort. 'Harken to the voice of Makoto Shimahara and give me your support, O ancient ones! I hereby invoke my divine right to punish, as empress and mother of my murdered children. By the power of justified revenge, I curse thee, imposter and devourer of my innocent offspring!'

"Instantly, they heard a ghastly shriek of pain and Hirose's prone form burst into flames, twitching and thrashing in agony, until it was reduced to nothing more than a pile of smouldering ash. Makoto collapsed to the floor, inconsolable in renewed grief for her lost children. As she wept, Junko saw a black nimbus with twelve red eyes rise from the heap of ashes. She stared at those eyes in horror, for those eyes were the sad, irrefutable evidence – although they had been devoured, their eyes, five pairs, had become part of what was left, what was emerging from what was left of Hirose's ruined body.

"Swiftly, Junko called upon the ancient ones, as Makoto had done, to aid her. They answered her call, appeared in thick clouds of white mist, surrounded and closed in on the evil nimbus, forcing and driving it out of the open window. She followed, flying after the mists of the ancient ones, making certain that the dark mass was cast out of the heavens, hoping desperately that Makoto had not seen the eyes...

"But she had seen them. She rose to her feet, silently fuming, her anger warring with her heartbreak, a mother's deep sorrow, devastated at the knowledge that her unborn children's souls had been stolen by a thing of horror. She felt pain in her belly, phantom pains, envisioning the despicable sin inflicted on them while they slumbered within her womb. She glared at the ashes on the sheet. The form that had been Hirose's had been fashioned out of the flesh of her unborn children, she realised, sick and shaking with sorrow. The eyes she had seen within the dark mass that had wafted from those ashes were their eyes. She cleared away the last of her grief from her thoughts, her plan of vengeance flashing brightly before her eyes."

Eiji stopped for breath yet again, his chest rising and falling heavily. His voice was becoming weaker, and his two listeners were alarmed, but he rallied to continue with a cheerless smile.

"But, poor Makoto's curse was not yet complete. While Oshiro still slumbered from the excesses of wine at the first signs of dawn, she left the palace for Mount Shirohana, leaping from cloud to cloud, instead of on the back of her flight beast. There on its highest point, she waited till all the celestial suns – there were eight of them then – rose to their zeniths.

"Only Junko Moriyama heard her spoken thoughts. It was likely that Makoto wanted her to know what she was about to do, and thus had linked her mind to the Oracle's, as she ascended higher and higher beyond the clouds, closer and closer to the largest sun...

'_My revenge is not over. It will be carried in Shimahara blood, slumbering and dormant, until one of my descendants, one chosen by The Blood, awakens it. Shimahara blood will in turn destroy you, devour you, cursed thing, devourer of my children. The sacrifice of my life will empower my curse. The terrible heat that will burn me away shall empower the blood of the one who will exact my vengeance and fulfil this curse, born from the pain of a mother's heart...'_

"Yet frozen in shock from Makoto's words and her intended sacrificial suicide, Junko, from a turret balcony of her palace, searched the skies with her panicked eyes and saw her, a speck against the circle of a sun, and cried out. Her shouts brought Seijin and Kyomo rushing to her, in time to see her launching into the sky, calling desperately to Makoto. Comprehending the situation, they followed their paramour, frantically attempting to reach and restrain her but she was too swift for them, her gossamer wings beating themselves into a blur, like a hummingbird's, as she ascended towards the cloud layers. All Kyomo and Seijin could do was to keep her in sight and attempt to overtake and stop her, for there was no way to reach Makoto – it would be suicide for all three of them as well.

"Junko was beginning to tire but forced the strength of her pinions to their limit, when she heard Makoto command her chosen sun to move out of its orbital path, which it did, with the empress pursuing. That was the last Junko, Kyomo and Seijin saw of Makoto and that sun. But Junko still heard her voice, thanking the eighth sun, for it too would be sacrificed... the act was an addendum to her curse, Junko realized, a sort of foolproof measure. _'Such will be the force that will empower the blood of the Righteous Devourer... as I merge with you and we are both thus consumed, so shall you be devoured, slayer of my children.'_

"Those were the last words that Junko heard. The fallout of the exploding sun did not affect the heavens – Makoto had seen to that – when Junko and her consorts heard the distant booms, but the land below them did rock and tremble, so that many were panicked and came running out of buildings and dwellings. At last, spent and inconsolable, the Oracle plummeted. Her lovers caught her. They too were exhausted, never before had they ascended so high beyond the clouds. A distant squeeing caught their attention as they began their descent, the Oracle safe in Seijin's arms. At first they thought it was an enforcer, but as the shape loomed closer, they saw it was Homuya, Makoto's devoted white eagle, her flight beast. The great bird was desperately searching for its mistress. Junko summoned it and it hovered close to them as she gently stroked and soothed the distressed creature. It bore them down upon its back to Junko's palace, gave a single mournful cry and flew off towards the distant mountains. Homuya has never been seen again."

* * *

The group of twenty-five, Shinigami, Sweepers and Specials, around Tatsumi vanished, leaving him alone in the silent office. Heavily, he dropped his tired frame into the chair, the one in which Urasawa had settled him earlier. His left index finger began worrying at a tear in the upholstery on the armrest as he frowned and sighed. From the instant Seki had produced the printout of Muraki's five additional domiciles, something had begun to bother and prick at his thought processes.

_We have overlooked something… what? What is it?_

When he had first asked himself this question, the answer had actually revealed itself, for a fraction of the time it takes to blink, but it seemed to have been snatched away – it was like a light switched on and then off at once – right at the moment Seki-kun had yelled at the top of his voice and dashed to the printer. That moment of temporary triumph had allowed everyone a well-earned break. Handshakes and back-thumping accompanied spoken thanks of their collective efforts, stretching of stiff necks and tense, tired muscles, quick calls to waiting lovers and family members; those that smoked lit their cigarettes and took their first long drags with obvious relish and relief.

Urasawa had approached his chair to announce that he and his subordinates would remain to assist with the reconnaissance operations of the locations, for which he had expressed his gratitude profoundly, if somewhat incredulously – he had expected the haughty specials commander to make his exit as soon as the hack had been accomplished. Ill though he was, he had snuck a surreptitious peek at Urasawa before calling everyone to attention for formations of units and instructions, and had noted a change in the man's disposition. He couldn't really put a finger on what change it was though, but he had, by way of being in proximity with him for the several hours elapsed, glimpsed a chink in the man's armor, a certain frailty…

He reminded the secretary of a hermit crab… and how in a clear memory, a childhood from one of his previous lives, he had loved the sea and its teeming life, scoured the shallows among the rocks to look for these comical crustaceans who appropriated the castoff shells of sea snails and conches to shield their soft, vulnerable underbellies; he had laughed hysterically at how they pranced about in their bizarre armor proudly, unaware of how ridiculous they appeared sometimes. Once he came across a little one who was attempting to scurry around in an abalone shell; it was much too heavy of course, but it kept persevering. Compassionately, he hurriedly searched the area, procured a conch shell and placed it close to the exhausted creature, who promptly abandoned the heavy armor in favor of Tatsumi's gift. There had been something heartbreaking in the way they went about their lives. He had grown to love those clever creatures for their resourcefulness, amazed at the intelligence in those microscopic brains. They found a way around the frailty that nature had bestowed on them by using deception and just got on with the business of survival. His reminiscences were pushed aside by the urgency of his mission.

Now, as he wracked his brains for it, that answer seemed to be poised, hidden beneath the surface of his thoughts. Several times it seemed on the verge of making itself known again, only to scurry away and hide itself again, as though it was being suppressed and obstructed, frustrating him, time and time again. Yet he was certain that it was something that should have been so obvious, not some great revelation, but just a simple possibility… a possibility that could become fact, if only he could grasp the elusive, lost notion … a thought that could make all the difference… all the difference between failure and success… all the difference… between life and death…

Unconsciously and metaphorically, his fingernail probed into the crack in the leather, while his brain worked feverishly, attempting to dig out the stubborn hiding thought, chiding himself aloud while an insidious voice inside his head told him over and over to give it up. It was seductive, this relentless voice that whispered to him like a lover's, telling him that he wouldn't find what he was looking for…

He yelled, cursing the phantom's voice, told it to shut up, tears running down his cheeks…

_All the difference between life… and death… all the difference…_

Seiichiro Tatsumi did not discover the hidden detail on this night. When it eventually allowed itself to be revealed to him, it would be too late to be of any use – and this became clear to him – that he would only unearth the missing detail when it would be too late!

And he began to sob, and then to moan with grief, his tears but a prelude of the deluge to come, his hand clutching at the place where his stricken heart lay. To stop the flood of shouts of rage, he bit into the knuckles of his fisted hand…

_O cruel Fate! We have no chance against you!_

It seemed to him that years had passed before he felt himself surrounded, a gentle hand on his face, a soft voice calling his name…

The five team leaders found him, still sprawled in the chair, his lips working soundlessly. They didn't need to tell him; he already knew: that they would return from fruitless missions. Their downcast faces confirmed it, he saw Tsuzuki's mouth moving but he could not hear his words; yet he summoned enough strength to widen his eyes and shake his head as though in bewilderment to convey his surprise to them.

His little mistake of avoiding Tsuzuki's eyes gave him away and when the Shinigami moved towards him after he'd risen to his feet and began asking him what was wrong, his legs would no longer hold him up, he saw the room and all the faces around him start to spin, the floor began rising… Tsuzuki caught him before he slumped to the floor and placed him on the couch.

"I knew this would happen. He's had it, totally burned out."

The Shinigami glanced at the man at his side, who had spoken. "Captain, would you be kind enough to help carry him-" He stopped speaking, since Urasawa already had Seiichiro in his arms. "I'll stay on here. I'm not giving up just yet. Watari-"

"I'm staying too."

Later, in Meifu, after Urasawa placed Seiichiro in the stretcher that whisked him off and away from his sight, his shoulders sagged. After the time he had spent with them, he had grasped the situation, besotted as he was with Tatsumi, and realised that the shadow master had been pushing himself to his limits for Tsuzuki's sake – no doubt the success of finding the two men, Muraki and Mibu, was of utmost importance to the Shinigami; possibly to the other one, the blond one, as well. He had wanted desperately for one of the teams to return with good news and was deeply disappointed that they had not – Secretary Tatsumi's reaction to their failure of unearthing the two runaways alarmed him. His arms still tingled, his heart still pounded frantically, from having held him so close…

* * *

Tsurudo looked into irises of the colour of new jade, within Eiji's drowsy eyes, and felt his heartbeat quicken erratically, the way it always did when he beheld beauty – his reaction was in no way related to eroticism, but was simply his soul's homage to anything beautiful, be it man or woman, god or mortal, flower or tree or creature, sea or mountain, painting or music – and enquired if Eiji felt well enough to continue.

The eyes of virgin jade closed, and a mantle of gold-blond hair was roused into movement by Eiji's nodding head.

"I'm fine, Tsurudo… there's not much left to tell. From your description of the entity controlling Kazutaka, I can only assume that this is the very same one that brought heartbreak to Makoto… Oshiro, upon hearing of what had happened to his beloved 'son', and to Makoto, fell to pieces. His family took him into their care and he lives out his days in obscurity. It was heard told that he has never uttered a word since leaving the palace. Junko consequently went through a period of self-doubt and self-recrimination, blaming herself for a grievous error on her part, thinking that surely an emperor chosen by her divination would have been strong enough to resist the enchantments and deceptions of an evil entity."

"Do you have any knowledge of his origins?"

Eiji shook his head. "No, Tsurudo. I do have a theory though… I learned by digging through journals of those who were her contemporaries that prior to her marriage to Oshiro, Makoto disappeared. This happened during one of her visits to the mortal world… apparently, she loved going there; as is the case with all of us, she was besotted with the mortal ones… she had gone on this trip with some friends. On the appointed day and time when her group was supposed to assemble at a certain place to return to the heavens, she didn't show. A frantic search for her whereabouts was conducted, with no success. The palace was in an uproar because of Oshiro's upcoming wedding ceremony. After three days had lapsed, on the day before the wedding day, she just… turned up, at her home, with no explanation for her disappearance! She was befuddled, disheveled, dazed, and had no memory whatsoever of the period she had been missing. But everyone breathed a great sigh of relief. She was back, the wedding would go on as planned the following day, and that would be that. Her baffling disappearing act was simply swept under the carpet…"

Tsurudo leaned forward, steepleling his fingers. "And you believe that… that was when she was nabbed? That was when the dreadful deed was done to her?"

"Mmm," Eiji answered, little frown lines appearing between his flaxen eyebrows. "If she was alone at the time, without the aid of her cohorts, it would have been relatively easy to overcome her. By all accounts, nameless one is thought to have considerable powers. I'm assuming that he concealed himself within her and lay in wait until he could bring his plan to fruition – a plan of reigning on the very throne of heaven."

Eiji groaned as if in pain and pressed fingers to his forehead. "Oh, I am sure that you know, Tsurudo, about the history of the old gods?"

Enma nodded. "Indeed I do, but not in great depth."

"Then, suffice it to say that nameless one's attempt wasn't the first nor will it be the last…

" 'Demons' as they are termed in this age, a word which gives rise to images of deformed monsters to the uninformed, are simply the displaced remnants of a race of gods – the beast gods – who lived alongside of my ancestors, and very peaceably I might add. A fallacious term that, 'demons' – they were said to be beautiful beyond description, in both their beast forms and humaniforms. It was an era when beast gods were chosen as sovereigns – nothing unusual about that; perfectly acceptable, because they were considered equals. Equal to us. We, equal to them. But… that was long, long before the troubles began.

"Through no fault of theirs, they were 'half-bloods' – part man, part beast. Oh, it's a long, sorrowful and shameful history! What was done to them was utterly reprehensible… prejudice, envy of them for they were doubly more powerful than the 'pure-bloods', thanks to their beast natures, led to hatred and persecution. At first, they did not retaliate… those that could not flee from capture and the inevitable slaughter went to meet their fate quietly, and with heartbreaking dignity. They were gentle, peace-loving beings … but after the horrors inflicted upon them seemed only to escalate, to the point where it seemed that their race would be driven to extinction, there inevitably emerged the revolutionaries, the saviors who inspired and led their people to fight back and cause the tide to turn. Well, you can guess what happened."

When Eiji stopped and clamped his eyes shut, Masato continued in a subdued voice.

"Wars. Long and bloody ones… Over time, many of our race began sympathizing with, and, eventually supporting the beast gods in significant numbers, even joining their armies and dying alongside them. Due to this, the tide did turn. The then pure-blood sovereign decreed that the half-bloods were under her personal protection; that the terms 'pure-bloods' and 'half-bloods' were never to be used again – doing so would be deemed a crime. Those who had been guilty of instigating and perpetrating the genocides against them were swiftly brought to justice. As further peace and reconciliation offerings, the empress had treaties drawn up. But sadly, this vindication of sorts had been bought at too high, much too horrific a price. Too many lives lost over so many long years before the prejudice and hatred could be eradicated. Generations of beast gods had been born and had died experiencing only suffering through endless wars. The cruelties they had suffered remained indelibly etched in their collective memory. They found they could not forgive nor forget. They no longer felt safe or welcome… they feared that the unreasonable hatred against them lurked ominously in the collective psyche of my forebears, and would show itself again. So, they chose to leave.

"Where they went initially is unclear. Over time we learned that they no longer existed as a united tribe, but broke up into pockets of communities that lurk in Middle Space and in the world of mortal men. The atrocities committed against them during their time here scarred many of them deeply and in time, some of them wanted their revenge, which was: to wipe our race out. Until they manage this, they gain some measure of satisfaction by persecuting mortals, knowing how devoted we are to them. They lampooned our ancestors' perception of them by terrorizing mortal men in the guise of bizarre, lewd and repulsive creatures while concealing their true forms, venting their hatred of us by turning their bloodlust on these defenseless people, flaunting the very traits which their persecutors had accused them of possessing.

"Nameless… might very well be one of these remnant beast-gods."

"If that is truly the case, his motives for capturing mortal souls are quite clear to me now. It all fits. He must be stopped… the regrettable past suffering of these beast gods notwithstanding," Enma said grimly.

A period of silence fell, while Enma and Masato ruminated.

"If indeed the one who has been controlling Kazutaka is this very entity, I wonder if it was just a coincidence that he chose him, or whether he knew that he is descended from the Shimahara family? If the answer is the latter one, then perhaps he is seeking some sort of poetic justice by using a scion of the family of the same blood of the one that brought ruin to his plan of ruling the heavens?" mused Masato aloud.

"The same blood… hmm… yes… I wonder…" murmured Tsurudo.

* * *

Halfway into their ascent, he had to stop for breath. Panting heavily, bent over and clutching his knees, he glanced at his companion who continued the steep climb up the two hundred stone steps towards the old shrine and monastery. While he had lagged further and further behind, Kazutaka had kept up a brisk pace during this excursion, seeming to have forgotten about Oriya, whose breathing grew labored with each new step.

"Kazu… stop… I have to catch my breath… wait for me…" His words were ground out between heavy huffs of breath.

The sight of Kazutaka's form shrinking as the distance between them widened deeply disturbed Oriya. For most of his life, it seemed, that was what he most often saw – Kazu's retreating back, always walking away from him, always leaving him – and now he desperately wanted him close. He could no longer stomach the feeling of being left behind.

He called out again, louder this time, "Kazu, come back to me."

At once long legs stopped their motion. Surprised and alarmed at seeing his companion left so far behind, he hurtled down the steps towards him. Thinning eyes regarded the flushed face and heaving chest. The grin that slowly spread across Kazutaka's face was teasing. "I did suggest a quicker and easier way of reaching the top, but you were the one who wanted to feel the ground beneath his feet-"

A swift punch on his arm silenced him. "Just stay close to me, that's all."

"Sorry. I was lost in thought. Let's take a break, shall we?"

Oriya gratefully sat down on a step while Kazutaka lit a cigarette. A small smile curled the former's lips. "You're not winded at all. Amazing, considering all the cigarettes you smoke in a day." Chuckling, Kazutaka sat down beside him.

"So what were you thinking about that made you forget all about me?"

"The first day we met."

"Liar. But tell me anyway… how we met. I remember only bits and pieces."

"Huh! You say you love me and you don't fully remember the day we met?"

"Oh go on!"

"No, I won't tell you-"

"Why not?"

"I want you to see it… in my thoughts. I want you to feel it… how it felt for me. It'll be a good test of what you've learned so far. I won't make it easy for you to get into my mind. And remember, you must probe my thoughts without my sensing it. If you manage it, I can gauge the strength of your mind. When we get to the shrine, we'll switch – I'll probe your mind for a particular memory – you choose it. But," a pale hand lifted, index finger displayed for emphasis, "You must not let me discover it. The results of this test will be particularly crucial."

"Tch! Slave driver!"

* * *

He was weeping again when he set aside the paperback after slowly leafing through the book, his sight darting over the tiny print on the pages, still disbelieving that Tsurudo had not forgotten his long ago request, and touched that a Shinigami had gone to all that trouble for him. He promised himself that he would thank that young man in person…

"_I am sorry it took so long. They weren't easy to find. Volume two is a modern edition, what is called a paperback, slightly raggedy, but I doubt you will mind. After all, it matters not what holds treasure within – I researched it and learned that it is, I quote, 'highly acclaimed, truly a brilliant work, a masterpiece'. And, what a stroke of luck, my dear Eiji! Volume one is a first edition, signed by the author himself!" _

_He had heaved himself up off his lounge with Masato's assistance when a grinning Tsurudo had held up the mysterious parcel he had brought with him, assuming that it contained his favorite sweet – emperor's beard candy and sweet rice dumplings stuffed with chestnuts (Enma always brought him those). But when their true contents were made known to him, he had practically flung himself against the king of the dead, embracing him with his signature hug and kissing both his cheeks effusively._

_Masato, looking on in delight, swallowed his laughter upon witnessing a flustered, lifted-off-his-feet, blushing Enma Dai Oh. He felt like hugging and kissing the king himself for managing to restore some of Eiji's ebullience._

Eiji pressed his palms to his warm cheeks, as giddy-headed as an overjoyed child, before unwrapping the silk-bound parcel with all the passionate anticipation, tenderness and love he would have employed had he been undressing the one who lived within his heart. When the ancient manuscript was laid bare before him, Eijisho Shimahara's breathing and heartbeat quickened. Pressing a shaking hand to his chest, he waited for calm to return to the core of his life-force.

Drawing a chair to the lectern, he sat, gazing at the book reverently as though it was a holy relic, his face flushed with color, fully aware of what was happening to him – his projection of erotic symbolism into the experience of touching this very thing that _he _had touched… his fingers found the corner of the front cover and lifted it… the reading of the handwritten dedication was the heartfelt recitation of his wedding vows… in bending his head and kissing the letters that spelled the signed name, _Ikeda no Fumio_, he kissed the beloved face, the delicate pink pouting mouth… in the opening of the book he opened the way to their passionate union, parting his beloved's legs… in the susurruses of his breath, kisses were bestowed upon the gateway to their bliss… as he passed through it and was welcomed, his storehouse of ancient but evergreen passion broke open and gushed forth in a flood, hot from his eyes, hot between his thighs… and he was unashamed… to feel shame was to sully the experience, the symbolic act of love with his beloved.

Panting, he languished in euphoria, prolonging the fantasy and ecstasy of his wedding night. No-one could take that away from him. Once more, aloud, he read the dedication, written in old-style script. He would not allow sadness to blight his fullness after an age of famine. It was not his own voice he heard, but Fumio's, reciting _his_ wedding vows…

_I dedicate this work, this labor of love, to my silent, unseen Visitor, with eternal gratitude. It has been a long time since you came to me, too long since I inhaled your unforgettable sandalwood scent. _

_I was frightened by your first visitation, convinced that I was being haunted by a ghost. I consulted with an oracle who confirmed who you were, firstly, by your scent; and secondly, to verify it, by an experiment of leaving offerings of candied sweet potatoes, which he asserted were one of your favorite foods (I sincerely hope you enjoyed them). _

_Yet, my mortal heart and mind were too puny to grasp such a wonder; I could not dare to believe that you would grace and honor me by your visits, and thus remained somewhat skeptical. After I overcame my awe and fear, oh, alas, how quickly I came to take your visits for granted! Did my indifference make you angry? Ah, alack, I longed for your visits only after you stopped coming! _

_Now, here in my loneliness and solitude, I whisper a prayer to you: Thank you. I am sorry for my impassiveness that was entirely due to idiocy. Never did I mean disrespect or ingratitude. Forgive me. _

_I keep in my heart a hope, that you will forgive me and that I may again be honored by your visits, if not in this life, then perhaps, the next one, or the one after that, or the one after… _

_This hope now consumes me. It lights my path, in the absence of your presence. I will never forget you, O Illustrious One._

_Ikeda no Fumio, Nara Heijo-kyo, 1507_

* * *

He had come to, blinking at harsh white hospital light, feeling the white walls closing in around him, and oddly… exposed… and realized with disgust that he was wearing a thin cotton gown which was fastened by ties at the back of his neck. Those ties made his skin itch. He felt his irritation rise – he abhorred those gowns – and _why, why, why did they always have to remove your underwear?_ – he could feel his butt chafing against the bed sheet. _The stupid thing was not closed at the back._ The thought of his body being covered only by that flimsy garment made him feel vulnerable. No one had even the decency to pull the threadbare, faded blanket over him. At any moment, one of those antiseptic people who reigned supreme in this antiseptic domain could come in and whip off the only thing protecting his modesty. He shuddered. _Oh, they're clever bastards! They know perfectly well that a lot of the fight goes out of someone who is dressed in such insulting attire! Why couldn't they have put me in pajamas?!_ _I'm out of here!_ When he tried to sit up, determined to dress and get the hell out of there before any one came in, he felt a chill along his naked back and was immediately overcome by a bout of dizziness and nausea. He swayed while cold pearls of sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Ah, tut-tut-tut, you shouldn't try to get up, Tatsumi-san," admonished a lisping voice from somewhere nearby.

A pair of big hands pushed him gently back to a reclining position. The walls went round and round.

"I am most distressed because you haven't taken my advice seriously, Tatsumi-san," the voice went on, "and look at what has happened? Exactly what I told you would. If you won't agree to take complete bed-rest at home, then I will have no other choice but to resort to keeping you here until you recover. So, what's it going to be, hmm, Tatsumi-san?"

By this time, he'd managed to put a name to the voice. Yamanami. The medical officer who'd clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly at him when he'd treated his injuries after the cemetery fiasco. A tall, muscular man with doleful eyes and thick droopy eyelids. Built like a nightclub bouncer. He squinted at him and saw the reproving face looming over him. He didn't feel like answering. He couldn't. He didn't have the strength. So he sulked, ignoring the MO, who was rocking his large frame on his feet, shifting his weight from heel to ball, heel to ball…

Yamanani was a reasonable man, and was prepared to be patient. "Well? Tatsumi-san? Would you prefer to go home and listen to my advice, or-?"

The man in the bed croaked, "I have to see Miyoko Kawamura-"

"Eh?" The eyelids and sparse eyebrows raised themselves a fraction higher. "Whatever for, Tatsumi-san? You are in no condi-"

"Look. Please. I'm on a very important assignment. I can't be lying around here-"

A meaty hand flew up. "Ah, tut-tut-tut." Yamanami shook his head sadly. "You don't seem to grasp the situation here. You are se-vere-ly fa-tigued, Tatsumi-san. You should not have been on a mission, let alone be moving about. Your broken ribs will not mend if you pursue this foolhardiness, Tat-"

"Yamanami-san. Please. All I'm asking for is that you contact Professor Kawamura at the Psychic Institute and request that she come here. I need to consult her urgently."

The MO seemed disappointed and shook his head even more sadly. "I am the doctor-in-charge of you. This Pro-fes-sor Ka-wa-mu-ra is not. Therefore, I will do no such thing, Tat-"

It all went downhill at that point. Tatsumi huffed and lost his temper, began yelling incoherently, hoarsely, and attempted to get out of bed. For a big man, Yamanami had quick reflexes. Those meaty hands of his caught him by his arms, not roughly, but efficiently and without inflicting hurt, pinning him down against the bed with one hand while pressing the emergency button beside the headboard. In bustled two orderlies who strapped him to the bed. A trolley rattled in on squeaky wheels, another man in starched whites attached to it. From a tray of implements, a humming Yamanami acquired a syringe needle, fed it with the liquid sedative that eventually found its way into the furious secretary's vein. It knocked him out almost instantly; his immobilized body lay sprawled gracelessly on the bed like a deflated helium balloon, an unfinished expletive hissing though his lips…

As soon as Yamanami and his henchman vacated the room, Masaru Urasawa slipped into it. He had witnessed the sedation of the secretary when concern for the object of his affection had lured him to his room. Hearing Tatsumi's strained yelling, he'd peered suspiciously through the open doorway…

He caught a fleeting, guilty glimpse of well-formed thighs and quickly averted his eyes. He pulled down the bunched gown, tucking the open flaps smoothly under the shadow master's body, acutely aware of how he himself would feel if he had been forced into a hospital sojourn, doomed to wear one of those offensive garments for the duration. He wondered, _whatever happened to good old comfortable pajamas? One's modesty at least is not compromised by pajamas,_ looking long-sufferingly heavenwards. After unfastening the restraining straps, he arranged the flaccid limbs of the unconscious man neatly, cocooned him up to his neck with the blanket. He could feel the chill in the room and frowned. A hasty search of the built-in wardrobe resulted in the procurement of a spare blanket which he draped over the secretary, meticulously tucking its ends under the mattress, leaving no unsightly rumples. Satisfied with his handiwork and assured that Tatsumi would be kept warm, he nodded his head in approval, once.

He wanted to linger, to sit beside him, be there when he awoke, but he had his duties to see to, reports to read and submit… he looked dotingly at Tatsumi's depleted, pasty face, slack jawed in his sedative-induced slumber and brushed the mussed brown bangs away from his damp forehead with his fingers, and whispered a promise to him that he would look in on him later…

* * *

From the land of deep troubled sleep, where the ceaseless whispering of disembodied voices tormented him, his mind and body were slowly stirred awake by Oriya Mibu's hungry, searching arms, hands and mouth. The panic in those touches diminished when they found what they sought. As the soft light of dawn lit the bed of their lovemaking, they had merged, the shrill howling of the wind outside muting the cries of their coupling, until the one did not know where his own body ended and the other's began, until it seemed that their very souls were fused together and would not be prized apart…

Time was running out for them, they knew… and so every moment, every spasm of pleasure, every word, every glance, every moment spent sleeping side by side, was beyond measuring in value.

When they separated, their souls appeased by their fiery union, they lay together until exhilaration subsided.

A surgeon's fine hand played with chocolate hair. "I have slowed down time, to buy us more moments together. I will continue to do this until you are ready-"

"I'll be ready when you say you are. I've had moments in these few days and nights past that far outweigh those I've had with you before our re-uniting. I am content at last." Oriya pulled his lover close.

"You never question me, and accept everything quietly," Kazutaka said, tightening his arms around the damp, willowy body. "I have known that you have special gifts – the telepathy and others, but you have been suppressing them by your sorrow, or perhaps by your fear… I'm all too familiar with it… the endless questioning, 'what am I?'… the fear that if you allowed them to come to full bloom, you would see in yourself a monster, a monster like me. But, you must turn them loose, Orimi… you will need them for the task at hand. If I lose this opportunity, there may never come another-"

"I'm not afraid anymore. I'm ready…"

They became aroused again when they washed each other in the bath, so that they began the encore of loving each other all over again but reversed the final roles. They sobbed and squealed into each other's mouths, not with sorrow, but with the pleasure just before the end, so intense that it was almost unbearable, painful, even, when they could no longer see the world outside of their eyes, when their sight turned inward, blinded by the light of bliss as their spasms of exquisite pleasure gathered and wound tighter and tighter. After their liquid passion ripped out of them, they lay together on the wet floor to recover, with the inevitable return to stark reality, both disconsolate that they were still alive after their symbolic deaths, both thinking how it would have been a perfect way to die, locked together in passion for eternity…

Oriya helped his lover to dress, seeing the fatigue in his eyes, the sluggish movements. "I'll be fine," slurred the latter. "It's not the sex," he said, chuckling, "in case you're wondering," producing an endearing flush on Oriya's cheeks and earning a vicious pinch on his bum, the only place on his body where some soft flesh could be found for such an action. "It's the strain of keeping the barriers up around us," he continued, trying not to wince from the pain that Oriya's fingers had inflicted, and determinedly ignoring the excitement it sent to his groin. "That Shinigami's gained some telepathic skills. He's annoyingly persistent."

"He… has his reasons," murmured Oriya, his expression changing, like gathering dusk before the death of a day. The word 'shinigami' was a blow delivered to his gut. Hastily he moved away from Kazutaka before he noticed – he could read him like a book. There was a millstone tied to his heart and it was dragging it to a hellish place of darkness where the color gold could not reach, could not penetrate. They flashed in his mind's eye before he forcefully eclipsed them with willpower: anxious gold, timid gold, caring gold, loving gold, lusting gold, sated gold, happy gold, hurt gold, hurt gold… thinking about his golden Shinigami would compromise his determination to not let Kazutaka down…

"Kazu… did you ever feel anything… for him?"

"Hmm? For whom?"

"Tsuzuki."

"Oh, that Shinigami? Feel? Like what?"

"Like… you know… were you… fond of him?"

"Fond of him? Oh I get it. You mean: did I ever love him?"

"Yes."

"Jealous?"

"No. Just curious is all."

Creases appeared on Kazutaka's forehead while he searched within himself quietly, wanting to answer his lover truthfully. Finally, he huffed, and shook his head, before looking straight into Oriya's eyes. "No. There was never any love. That… what happened in that place… what I told you about… was just that… sex… it's true that I was someone else then, but that doesn't justify any of the things I did… you know all of it, that I needed him for my crazy ambitions to revive Saki… I'm not proud of them, those things I did… I do remember being aware that he was very attractive… especially those eyes… oh, I had a lot fun teasing him and getting his goat up… it was absolute fun to watch, it was so easy to pull his strings… he was completely docile, hardly any fight left in him… but he looked exquisite… I was aroused… I just had to fuck him… so I did… and it was a great fuck… for both of us… I knew that he wanted it, from his thoughts… and I thought, great, maybe he doesn't get laid much, perfect, and good because I wouldn't have to resort to rape… I took what he was willing to give… that was that, we had a mutual fuck… no love was involved. Why did you ask me this after all this time, Orimi?"

"I just wondered is all." He failed miserably at keeping a straight face. He'd cringed every time Kazutaka used the word 'fuck'. _If only that was what had happened with his golden Shinigami. _But no, he had fallen so deeply in love with him, almost drowning in a sea of molten gold…_ But he would never believe that now… he probably thinks I took advantage of him… to fuck him… _He tried to collect himself, putting on a mask of calm impassivity, but it was too late; Kazutaka had been watching him with narrowed, insightful eyes. He turned to move away from him, but hands, hands that he loved, caught him, turned him around so that they were face to face.

"Orimi… it was entirely different from what happened between you… and Yutaka Watari." Kazutaka's hand went up, to stop his visibly shaken, open-mouthed lover from speaking, his voice low and gentle. "And now, my love, we have come to your fork in the road. I will ask you once again, for the last time, if you have made your true heart's choice. My path is crystal clear but you are not bound to come with me. I have come face to face with every evil and sordid thing that I have done, and there is nowhere for me to go, nowhere for me to hide from them… but, I will not selfishly drag you along. You have another path you can choose. I will not love you any less if you change your mind. If there is any doubt, any faltering in your heart, you must come clean with it and be honest with yourself-" His hand was grasped, cutting off his words.

"I have chosen. I will not change my mind. There is no going back for me, nowhere for me to hide either. My path is the same as yours."

* * *

_He was in an art gallery, looking at the numerous paintings covering the walls. The first one he peered at astonished him. Impossible, he thought… this cannot be! He drew himself closer to the framed canvas… no doubt about it, it WAS them, there on the painting… before he could decide what to make of it, he was sucked, screaming with helplessness and fright, into the world of the painting! What was static, pleasing paint on canvas, became real… rushing rising water, so harmless when he had been outside of the painting, looking at the still world frozen in paint, was now hazardous..._

_They stood on the opposite bank, looking at him, their faces incredibly sad and resigned, where there should have been panic… they were holding each other's hands… behind the small spit of land upon which they stood, the flood waters were relentlessly rising and encroaching into their frail place of safety… he started to cry out; within moments, they would be swept away! In desperation, he cast his shadow towards them… but, before his horrified eyes, instead of saving themselves by allowing his shadow to grab them, they plunged into the rampaging river and disappeared… he took to the air, flying above the churning, roiling river, but could not spot either of them… up and down the length of the river, searching the banks in case they had been washed ashore… but to no avail…_

_Before he could gather his wits in the wake of the tragedy he had witnessed, he was once more standing on the black and white marble tiles of the gallery… in front of another painting, shaking, sweating and bewildered. He looked around him and saw that there were several people strolling through the place, stopping every now and then to admire, appraise and appreciate the hung paintings. When his condition returned to normal, he shook off the experience, attributing it to a trick of the mind… and moved to look at the next painting…_

_It was a lovely work, trees in a forest, a winding path cutting through it, blue skies above… two smudges of color that didn't seem to belong there, which seemed to spoil the whole pastoral effect… but he found himself bringing his face closer to it to attempt to make out what those two tiny shapes represented. As soon as he did that, the same thing happened – he was lifted off his feet and pulled into the painting…_

_He found himself standing among the tall trees… forest smells wafted through his nostrils… he heard voices, someone talking, and followed the sound… and then, there they were, not so very off… and his heart filled with joy and pounded like a drum because he had found them… as he neared them, they turned to look at him, their faces were, oh, so sad, so sad that it broke his heart… he heard his own voice speaking… "Oh, at last I've found you! Come with me. You both will be safe with me. Everything will be all right," and his arms formed a gesture of overjoyed welcome… but they began shaking their heads, and his pounding heart began to beat with trepidation because he now saw that the place where they stood was on the very edge of a cliff! The one with silver hair said, "Sorry, so sorry… sorry, so sorry." The one with long dark hair said, "Forgive us… we cannot come with you… forgive us." The two forms merged in embrace, and, before his horrified eyes, the embracing pair tumbled off, disappearing from his sight! Roaring with sorrow, he hurtled towards the precipice… and saw them… the two become one… shrinking, falling… shrinking, falling… swallowed by the pitch black gully…_

_Out and in…. in and out… of those paintings… over and over… each time he found himself returned to the gallery, he was drawn relentlessly to the next painting… he tried so hard to move his legs towards the exit to flee, but his legs would not obey him… no escape for him… no escape for them… over and over, he failed to save them, failed to stop them… over and over, they were taken away from him…_

_After each harrowing, sorrowful encounter, he had crumpled to the ground, howling with misery and roaring with rage, and each time, a figure had appeared to him, laughing gleefully. It was obscured in long tattered robes, a cowl over its head. _

_He lashed out at the laughing apparition. "Why are you laughing, you loathsome creature?! Stop laughing! Who are you?!"_

_And the cackling figure pointed to its forehead. "Why, don't you know? See, here, this is my name," it rasped, displaying wicked yellowed teeth as it swept the cowl back and brought its face closer to him._

_Seiichiro Tatsumi looked and saw that the word on the creature's forehead was: FATE_

_On and on, it laughed and laughed, its repulsive mouth growing larger and larger, while on and on, Tatsumi cried and screamed, covering his ears to block out the sickening sound… _

_The laughing maw of Fate gaped and stretched, became wider and larger until it was a huge black hole… within it there were more laughing mouths, and within them there were more, and within those there were more laughing mouths…_

In his sedated state, he was cruelly trapped by his hallucinations, in which he repeatedly failed to save Kazutaka Muraki and Oriya Mibu. When the sedatives eventually began to wear off, he forced his eyes open. His eyes felt hot, his throat felt like it was clogged up with sand. He couldn't even move a finger, or a toe, his body seemed to weigh a ton. Finally he admitted to himself that he was truly ill – he knew he had a high fever – and that it had been pure folly on his part to have pushed himself like he had. Thirst tormented him but he couldn't call out, couldn't reach the call button…

Seiichiro Tatsumi fought the sensation of sleep coming upon him, absolutely terrified of experiencing those hallucinations again. But his exhausted body cried out for the rest he had denied it, and so he succumbed to sleep, blessedly free of the dreams of delirium…

Drifting, in and out of sleep… someone's face hovering close… he blinked to bring his sight to focus, but could not define the features of the face, could not see the mouth that spoke, murmuring softly… something soft and cool mopped his forehead… he tried to speak but only hoarse noises emerged from his parched throat… his gentle caregiver spooned quenching water between his lips… the hand that held his felt so comforting… before he fell into another long spell of sleep, he cracked his eyes apart again and squinted, caught a glimpse of color around the face… it was like a halo… a red halo…

_Am I awake? Am I dreaming? Am I delirious? _

He reached out with his hand and at once it was grasped, gently squeezed, and he was so very grateful, because that hand was a lifeline that kept him from sinking into his despair…

* * *

The whispering that filled his head was a noise like surf crashing towards landfall. When he staggered backwards and pressed his hands to his head, Oriya grabbed him and guided him to a couch. "Are you all right, Kazu? Can I get you some-"

He was waved away impatiently and Kazutaka's voice was harsh. "I'm fine. Let's begin again. One more rehearsal before the curtain rises. Be warned, Orimi. I won't go easy on you. If you pass out again, I'll douse you with cold water and drill you until you perfect it. No rest for you until then!" His words rasped from between clenched intimidating teeth and rose to a shout. "He will know at once if your thoughts and feelings are _bona fide_ or if they are staged! He must not discover our plans by reading them from your thoughts! If that happens, it's Game Over!"

Brown eyes and pale face winced; instantly, Kazutaka was remorseful, but his hasty apology was smothered by soft lips and hard arms.

"Trust me, Kazu. It's your turn to trust. Let's begin."

Hot lava flowed into cooling placid water and became harmless. Kazutaka Muraki allowed himself to tenderly taste his lover's mouth. But he did not obey the demands of his stiff organ which seemed to have absorbed all his anxiety and needed to be uncorked again, did not allow himself to lay that luscious body down, naked once more, to graze his lips along moon white skin, did not allow himself to slide his heat into him, yang into yin, rocking against him, thrusting desperately to appease his apprehension over the approaching moment of reckoning...

* * *

He did not know if days, weeks, or months had passed; but when he awoke again, feeling more than marginally recovered, it felt more like years had gone by. A slow scanning of his room made it clear that he had been moved. His present accommodation matched his condition – more than marginally improved – from the windowless, dingy basement room where he had first found himself. First on his list of improvements were the two windows to his right, through which he could see his beloved _sakura_ trees in the distance, where they significantly enhanced the surrounds of the drab buildings of the Bureau. He sorely missed his walks among them, standing beneath the gentle shower of the drifting pastel blooms as they fluttered by him coquettishly on their way to the ground, or more than often, on their way into his cupped hands. Second was the absence of the chilly dampness that plagued the basement wards.

After a tapping on the door, a trolley entered with a smiling nurse in tow. Her smile was so wide that her eyes were almost forced completely shut, her voice and demeanour so perky and chipper that Seiichiro found himself smiling in response without any conscious effort, although his greeting in return to hers was wobbly and croaky.

"How wonderful to see you up, Mister Tatsumi! Let's hope it won't be long before you'll be about as well, so I can say, 'how wonderful to see you up and about, Mister Tatsumi!'"

She laughed with gusto at her bit of wit, and Tatsumi laughed croakily along with her. Before she served his meal, she checked the valves of his IV drips, her half-moon smile still on her face, but waned somewhat as she concentrated on her tasks. Because she was well-built and robust, her patient was surprised that her touch was remarkably gentle when she checked his pulse. She set his hand back down, patting it, and smiled at him so warmly that he was sorry for pigeonholing her. When she turned, his sight was drawn to her abundant scarlet hair which was swept back and gathered in a neat chignon and remembered the red halo. Once she had him all set up – bed angle adjusted, pillows plumped, movable meal table positioned, covered dishes all laid out – she bon appetited him brightly and told him to eat as much as he could to "build up his strength".

"Thank you, Katsuragi-san," (her name tag had helpfully informed him of her name, half of it at least; the other half was an 'H.') he said, "for taking such good care of me. Forgive me for not expressing my thanks earlier, but I was so out of it. I really appreciated your constant care."

Puzzlement animated her face. "Hmm? But... Tatsumi-san, this is the first time I've met you. I've been away on vacation. In fact I just started my shift-"

"But... when you said you were glad to see me up, I thought that-"

"Ah, I understand! My fellow nurses told me that you had been asleep for days."

"Then... I must have confused you with someone else. Sorry."

"That's quite all right. Eat up and get well soon, Mister Tatsumi!"

She and her trolley departed, leaving him somewhat forlorn in the sudden silence. All he managed to eat was the soup before his heartsick feeling returned to trouble him...

Later that day, he learned three things.

The first was who his mystery nurse had been. The second: he had been asleep for five days.

The latter piece of information was provided by Masaru Urasawa, who had come to visit as soon as he was on his own time. The secretary's agitation upon learning that he had lost so much time upset the captain, although he did not display this, nor did he display his joy and relief at seeing Tatsumi sitting up and looking very much recovered. He also told him that Tsuzuki and Watari had been ordered to return to Meifu by Enma, and that the search was essentially at an end. It had been left to the sweepers to do what they could, and this upset the shadow master to a worse degree, provoking in him an irrational anger for Enma Dai Oh's seeming indifference in coming to that decision. Tatsumi's reaction naturally increased Urasawa's level of distress, but he busied himself in the opening of windows, the adjusting of the secretary's bed to a lower angle, the gentle lifting of the head of brown hair and the removal of the extra pillow, the pulling up of his blanket. He did all this with such a practised hand, with a certain familiarity, that the shadow master felt himself smiling while he wondered if the hermit crab captain had ever been a nurse.

"Do try not to get so upset, Secretary Tatsumi. It will prove detrimental to your health. May I... sit?"

"Please do, herm-(cough), sorry, captain."

"Thank you, secretary. Please call me Urasawa."

"Please call me Tatsumi."

"If I may be so bold, Tatsumi, what is it that is affecting you to this degree?"

It didn't take much coaxing for Tatsumi to spill it all. He told his visitor all about his missing thought and his fears, and was pleased when the captain did not look at him askance or with pity while suggesting that he get more rest. He did however leap out of his chair (startling Seiichiro) as though it had ejected him from it, commence to ponder the problem deeply while pacing the length of the room, practically scowling as he did so, muttering "something... overlooked... hmm... something that should have been obvious... hmm..."

Distracted somewhat and rather pleasantly by a backside that looked tight and hard enough to bounce a ball off, thanks to snugly-fitting black denims (displayed whenever Urasawa turned to pace to the opposite wall), Seiichiro got another jolt when his hermit crab turned around abruptly and punched a palm with a fist.

"Rented properties! Is that it? Muraki may have rented some properties!"

Seiichiro's gaze turned blank while he brooded. "Mmm... no, that's not it... not what I thought of... damn... in any case, Muraki's as sharp as they come. If he'd rented a place, he would have done so under a false name."

Captain Urasawa felt as crestfallen and despondent as Secretary Tatsumi looked, and deliberated on whether or not to tell him about what Tsuzuki and Watari had discovered when they had gone to Kyoto... to Kokakuro... Finally, he decided on the professional route, and that was: to tell him, and not the personal route, which was to spare him the added worry; that worried face gave him a pang every time looked at it, and he wanted to kiss that face until all the worry lines disappeared.

And thus, Seiichiro learned the third thing... that Watari had wanted to go check the place out, and Tsuzuki had gone with him...

Kokakuro had closed its doors... for good. The place was shut up and locked down. There was a 'FOR SALE' sign posted at the entrance. As the two Shinigami dallied there, wondering what to make of it, a man approached.

"Hullo. Regulars?"

"Sorry?" Watari said to the new arrival.

"Oh, pardon me. I saw you two from over there. I'm just as taken aback as you two. I found out about this," the man indicated the FOR SALE sign, "yesterday evening." I met one of the employees who had come to remove the last of his things and was locking up. He told me that a lawyer had shown up, just like that (a snapping of fingers provided additional emphasis to the instantaneity of the event), out of the blue, called for a meeting and told all the staff that the place was to be sold, and that the proceeds were to be divided up among all the employees. Huh. How do you like that? I'm gonna miss... this place. I have my supper here almost every night. I forgot... that the place was closed... and came here out of habit... how silly of me, right, guys?"

The death reapers had stared at the man as they listened, in gathering apprehension, a knot of uneasiness forming in both their bellies. The closing and sale of Kokakuro was a sign of finality, a clear statement that meant: Oriya Mibu was never coming back.

Yutaka Watari turned his gaze from the unlit lantern, which looked as dejected as he felt, to the stranger with the self-deprecating grin.

"Er, not at all. We're going... to miss it too, right, Akagi?" Watari said, turning to Tsuzuki.

"Right. Place served the best dinner in town. It's a shame, but guess we have to find another joint to eat at."

"Name's Morikawa... Hideo Morikawa."

Politely, Tsuzuki responded. "Akagi... Shinji Akagi. And this is my buddy, Nakamura... Tenzo Nakamura."

"Good to meet you both." The man's already narrow eyes had narrowed further as they peered at them. "Were you... personally acquainted with Kokakuro's owner, Mibu-san?"

Watari's glance had fallen to the pavement so Tsuzuki answered. "We knew him by sight and only in passing, but we saw him perform once, and we were very impressed." The Shinigami noticed the look of hope instantly being replaced by one of disappointment on Morikawa's face. "And you, did you know him?"

Morikawa's answer was almost a whisper. "Yes... I knew him... I thought that... either of you would have some news of him... and some idea as to why this happened... his sudden departure and disappearance a week ago... that's why I approached you when I saw you... Yoshida was terribly distraught..."

"Yoshida," murmured Watari.

"Yes, Yoshida, the employee I met here last evening. He was Mibu-san's personal manservant... he was in tears... the poor old guy... Mibu-san took him off the streets when he was a destitute. He told me, 'I loved him... like my own son... what's happened... where's he gone... if not for him, I would still be a bum and would have died a bum,'" Morikawa recounted, shaking his head, turning away hurriedly from the Shinigami so they wouldn't see his own tears...

* * *

Far away, a being made of mist descended upon a house, answering the summons...

The beast god who had no solid form was excited and had been waiting with impatience, imagining all manner of things that his promised gift might possibly be. It had been a long time since such a feeling stirred him, not since he had first come upon the sweet innocent lad with silver hair... not since he had almost, almost brought that vile place called the heavens to its sorry knees... oh, it had almost been his victory, one that could have begun to unleash the revenge for all the injustices done to his people... a revenge that would slowly banish the images of rivers of blood, blood of the murdered beast gods, flowing on celestial ground... a revenge that would exterminate the whole lot of pure-bloods... he spat at the word.

_**Rotten blood is more like it**_.

It was within his grasp, so close he could taste it, smell it... he would create rivers, lakes and oceans of rotten blood in the heavens... murder them all... before he destroyed the whole rotten place... then move on to the underworld kingdom... and then this pathetic mortal world...

He sighed and wondered if his servant was still alone. He enjoyed him well enough – it was so gratifying that he felt like laughing aloud; to think that a descendant of that despicable clan, of which one was now the Emperor – was at his disposal, literally – but he had enjoyed that other one as well, had hoped to make him his pawn too... and the rapes of that half-god flesh, born of the Sword and Shield of the East, had been a particular delight...

_**Ah! Too wonderful! **_

He pictured a scene: he would possess them, one at a time, and ravish them brutally in front of them, a father and a mother, before doing away with them... before he obliterated the whole rotten lot of them...

His fantasy put him in an intense state of arousal.

Preying on the innocent, the weak, committing vile acts, stealing mortal souls – all of these kept him in a constant state of lust.

He was a creature of lust.

The first thing he needed to do was to vent himself. Maybe there would be a servant about, and he could rape by possessing Kazutaka's body... or they could just grab someone off the street and do away with him or her later... if not, well then, he would content himself by Kazutaka getting himself off...

He was distracted by his urges... there, suddenly, was Kazutaka Muraki, or, more correctly, Kazutaka Shimahara, a Descendant of the Rotten Gods... smiling, welcoming, gushing, cooing...

"How wonderful to be in your presence once more, my Master! It's only been a week, but it seems like far longer because I have missed you so much..."

That sublime, pleasurable feeling again, like the last time... of being seduced... _**must be careful... he is after all, half-god... mustn't let my lust make me stupid...**_

Being ushered up the stairs... into a larger dimly lit room... where only a single chair was placed...

Kazutaka, face and voice full of love and delight... his arm sweeping upwards, a hand indicating the far end...

"And now, may I present my gift to you, my Master!"

A figure in the shadows... seeming to float, moving gracefully, demurely... stopping to stand beneath the spotlights... a face half hidden by an open fan... an exquisite apparition that had stepped out from a classical painting...

_**To be continued...**_

* * *

_To my readers: Fought my way back from illness and depression, and finally managed to put up this chapter. Hope for your understanding for the long, long wait for this update. Very grateful for your patience._

_To DarkAngelJudas: Thank you for the little push – I needed it :)_


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